


Welcome to Terreville High

by notjodieyet, PhantomWriter5



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale has a helpless gay crush, Aziraphale's mom is the mayor and probably God idk, Beelzebub is the captain of the soccer team, Child Abuse, Crowley has a helpless gay crush, Crowley is a mess, Crowley's mom is dead and that probably means something, Ex-Girlfriend, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, High School AU, Homophobia, Human AU, M/M, Nobody knows, Nothing is shown, OR IS IT, Pining, Rivalry, Sayt Anne is a person, Secret love, The Archangels are assholes, The sPiCe intensifies in later chapters so yee, They're both a mess, Tooth Rotting Fluff, anathema is the editor in chief, aziraphale is an anxious bean, but they aren't really archangels, but they're still assholes, crowley's not sure if he's bi or straight, dental insurance not included in the reading of this, don’t worry to much, fuff/angst, is very good tho, just skip if you’re worried, newspaper club, nothing explicit don't worry yourself, okay read now please :3, okay stop reading these tags and go to the fic already!, rated teen for some language and graphic kissing, so like all three of them are God idk, soccer team, the principal is Principal Mcdormand, the them are freshman, they sleep together, this entire thing is a bit of a train wreck tbh, triggering chapters will be marked, you should be fine tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2020-11-07 16:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 56,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20820656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjodieyet/pseuds/notjodieyet, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomWriter5/pseuds/PhantomWriter5
Summary: Aziraphale Fell just transferred to Terreville High and already, everything is going badly - until quirky Anathema Device and her nerdy boyfriend Newton invite him to join the Angelic Times, the school newspaper. Immediately, Aziraphale is assigned to interview the sports team, the Demons - including creepy Chris Hastur, intimidating Cedric Ligur, goth captain Beelz, and actually cute (!!) ginger boy, Crowley.But when funding is cut on Terreville’s clubs, leaving room for only soccer or newpaper, Aziraphale and Crowley are thrown into a battle of sabotage with senior correspondents, ex-girlfriends, and very confusing emotions.





	1. Aziraphale

**Author's Note:**

> My friend (babblinglily on Twitter and squallerqueen on Tumbler) and I made this mess of a fic and we hope you like it to some degree. 
> 
> She wrote the Aziraphale chapters and I wrote the Crowley ones, but we helped each other out at some bits. ;)

Aziraphale was sure that everybody would laugh at him. 

Well. He had been sure. Now he was pretty sure everybody was ignoring him, which was still bad but a degree better.

Aziraphale’s dad, Mr. Metra Fell, owner of the old bookshop on Coelum Avenue, was a very odd man. Unfortunately, this mean Aziraphale had inherited some of his oddities, including his Victorian-style jackets and a love for old books.

Aziraphale clutched the book he’d brought along for interference to his chest. This was his first day at Terreville High, because Dad had bought a new store and they’d uprooted their life to Terreville. Aziraphale had been to the town a few times before, because his mom was the mayor, but usually Mom came to visit them in New York City. 

Now he would be forced to learn every part of the town for the next three years. _ Only three years _ , and maybe he’d make a friend that would make those three years worthwhile. That was a very slim chance. And not one he’d bet the prophecy book he was holding against himself on.

Aziraphale continued to scan the navy-blue lockers against the wall. They had masking-tape names written on them in black Sharpie: Ana Ferr. Georgia MacDonald. Cedric Ligur. Of course they weren’t alphabetical; that would have been too easy.

In typical Metra Fell fashion, Dad had mixed up the first day of school with the second week of school, so Aziraphale felt even more out of place than he might have if he’d come on a normal day. Cliques had already been formed. Class syllabuses had already been handed out. He might even be late on homework.

_ Aziraphel Fell _. Finally. He made a mental note to bring some masking tape in and fix the spelling error. The locker’s lock was, thankfully, set to _ 0000 _, and he set it to _ 1876 _, because that was when the Dewey Decimal System was first published. A bit nerdy, but hard to guess. It wasn’t as if he had anything worth stealing.

Aziraphale clicked open the locker. The previous owner had written _ "M ♡ G" _ on the wall in a messy scrawl that he thought fit quite well to locker vandalization. He slid his book, along with a notebook and a folder, into the locker. Aziraphale fished his schedule from his pocket and checked the times.

Hm. Homeroom was room 3A, which would probably be difficult to find, but it started in ten minutes so he had _ ample _ time to anxiously ask somebody for directions. “Clubs,” he muttered to himself, reading aloud the first period of the day.

Fabulous. He’d probably missed that, too, which meant he’d be shuffled into some horrendous lecture-like class with all the outcasts. Or something he’d be no good at. Like art.

“Hey!”

Aziraphale tried to scrunch himself into his locker to avoid being seen. They couldn’t be saying hi to _ him _, could they? Hopefully not. Drawing attention was, in his experience, not a good idea. 

“I said hi.”

Maybe they _ were _ talking to him.

“Hi?” said Azirphale to _ M ♡ G. _ It was easier than turning around. His voice echoed slightly in the small metal space. 

“Finally. I thought you were ignoring me. Or hard of hearing.” 

Aziraphale turned around. The person who’d decided to single him out was Latina, female-shaped, with fashionably thick-framed round glasses, a calf-length skirt in deep purple, and a friendly smile. “I’m Anathema Device,” she said. She stuck out a hand.

_ Anathema? _ There was no way this couldn’t be some kind of _ omen _. “Nice to meet you,” said Aziraphale after a slight pause. He shook the hand. It was fairly hand-like. “Anathema?” he asked, unable to simply leave the word hanging there. 

“You noticed. Most people don’t.” She sounded somewhat pleased that he knew what her name meant. “My mom didn’t really know what it meant when she named me.”

_ Anathema: something that someone dislikes strongly. Or a curse by the Church. _ Aziraphale tried to remember the dictionary definition. He’d been fascinated by the word, ages ago, after coming across it in an old book. “It’s quirky,” he said, trying to find a better compliment.

That one seemed to do fine by Anathema. She hoisted her violet backpack against her shoulder, and snuck a look at Aziraphale’s schedule. “3A? My boyfriend’s in 3A. Newton Pulsifer. I don’t know where he is right now… but I can take you, I guess.”  
Aziraphale nodded, gratefully. “I would like that.”

\---

Newton Pulsifer turned out to be the exact opposite of Anathema. Where Anathema was bold, confident, and proud, Newton was nervous, confused, and decidedly ashamed of his entire self. He had messy hair that Aziraphale thought a comb would balk from, a flip phone, pale white skin, and glasses that were taped together with about an inch of masking tape.

Aziraphale felt fairly comforted by somebody even more nervous than he was, though, and they quickly struck up a conversation. He filed away the information in case he had to tell his dad later. Newton wanted to be a computer engineer, although he was worried he wouldn’t be much good at it. He’d gone to Terreville since freshman year and planned to graduate next year from Terreville as well. He was in newspaper, which Anathema was apparently the Editor-in-Chief of.

Aziraphale listened to him talk, answering question after question that he hadn’t even asked, except for the one question that was actually floating in his head. _ How does somebody like Newton date somebody like Anathema? _ Aziraphale hoped it was something like _ this school is open to new opportunities! _ instead of _ we were childhood friends. _

It seemed like a rude question to ask, though, so it stayed in Aziraphale’s mind until the end of Homeroom.

Aziraphale had another oddity of Terreville to add to his list. (Currently, the list was: the tape on the lockers, the weird students, and the fact that first period was _ clubs _). 

The bells were all broken, and so when every period was over, there would be a ringing noise over the intercom. But not a regular school-bell ringing that was less of a bell and more of a loud sound. It was an old-fashioned dinner bell, so every forty minutes, the students heard the tolling of an iron bell recorded from some English castle. Or so Aziraphale assumed. 

“My schedule says clubs,” said Aziraphale to Newton as the homeroom students flooded towards the door. “Sorry!” he said to a pink-haired teen as he shouldered past them. “Sorry. Sorry!”

“Oh my God, shut up, dude!” shouted a boy wearing a mock basketball jersey. He had pasty white skin, and he was a few inches taller than Aziraphale. His hair was a flop of shocking white, even blonder than Aziraphale himself, and his eyes were the deep, unending brown of a wet, rotting stump. 

Aziraphale started to apologize, but realized that probably wasn’t the best idea. Newton grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out the door.

“That guy is kind of creepy,” Aziraphale admitted, his face warm. 

“Chris Hastur,” said Newton helpfully. “He’s… a character. I’ll see you in the news room?” 

“I guess?” Aziraphale didn’t really have any intention of joining the news staff. He wasn’t really a journalist. You had to be semi-brave to be a journalist, and Aziraphale got nervous just talking to people he didn’t know. 

Newton walked off. 

\---

Aziraphale was beginning to realize he should have asked Newton which room was the news room. He should have asked any of the students shoving past him, or giggling with each other, or comparing Spanish homework. 

But now it was too late, because the hallways were almost completely empty and he was probably about to be asked if he had a hall pass. 

_ Ask the next person you see. Ask the next person you see. Ask… _ Aziraphale walked straight into somebody.

“Hey, watch it!” he said. He was a long, lanky boy, who looked about the same age as Aziraphale. Vintage sunglasses rested on his nose, and ginger hair was short on his forehead. 

“I’m so sorry. So sorry.” Aziraphale laughed awkwardly. “I can’t… I mean, do you… do you know where the newspaper is?”

“The newpaper?” Aziraphale had the impression that the boy was squinting at him behind his sunglasses. 

Aziraphale nodded.

The boy pointed. “Turn left. First door on your right. I don’t know why you’d wanna join, but have a blast.” He said it dryly, as if he didn’t really care whether or not Aziraphale really had a blast.

“Thank you.” Azirphale rushed away without thinking about asking his name.

\---

The news room was busy and loud. There were only about fifteen other people on the staff (Anathema and Newton included) but apparently fifteen people can make a lot of noise when they’re stressed and excited.

“Hey! You made it!” said Anathema, walking away from a girl in a headscarf writing fervently on a clunky Chromebook. She waved. “Everybody, this is Azirphale…”

“Aziraphale Fell,” he muttered, sure he was going bright red. He tried to smile. “Hello. Everybody.”

He spotted Newton, writing on a piece of paper longhand, and somebody next to him who had paused shouting at a computer long enough to smile brightly at Aziraphale.

There was a chorus of “hi”s before Anathema snapped at everybody to go back to work. She turned to him. “Do you know anything about sports?”

“Sports?” he repeated, hoping he’d misheard her.

“Yeah. Our sports editor has caught the flu and won’t be able to attend school for another few days, and then he’s going to Scotland for a _ week _… we just need somebody to do a beginning of the year profile.” Anathema handed him a piece of paper with a long list on it. “These are the articles we’re working on. Euan is the missing editor, could you take his stuff? Only one is due for this edition.”

“Um.” Aziraphale didn’t have the good sense to interrupt. “I…”

“Have you ever been on a newspaper staff before? You won’t have to be in charge of a beat. We did those assignments last week. If you want, you can do one next edition.” 

Anathema pointed at the paper. “Those are the articles we’re working on. Some of them we’ll run next edition. Some of them our staff will need longer to work on, so they’ll be the edition after next, or the edition after that. Got it?”

“Sort of.” Aziraphale scanned the paper for _ Euan _ and found a disturbing number of articles next to his name. _ Sports profile. Demons game. Town football. _ Were they all sports? “I don’t have to do all of these?”

“All of Euan’s? No. Just the profiles, then we’ll assign you something else. All you have to do is go to the Demons practice - that’s our team, the Terreville Demons - and interview the players for stats.”

“...stats?” Aziraphale said, struggling to keep up.

“How long they’ve been on the team, if they’ve ever been on another team, their position. If you want, you can get statements from some of them.” Anathema started walking around the room and waved for Aziraphale to follow. 

“Stats,” he said again. Hopefully this wouldn’t be a trend.

Anathema smiled sunnily. “You got it!”

\---

The Demons’ practices were Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, according to the schedule up on the newsroom corkboard. Aziraphale asked Huda, the girl in the hijab that Anathema had been talking with earlier, and she suggested he go to the closest practice from today. 

Today was Monday. Which meant this afternoon.

Aziraphale wrung his hands like a maiden in a nineteenth-century romance novel and looked at his small notepad. _ Stats, _ it said across the top in Aziraphale’s neat script. He had two handwritings: this one and his note-taking handwriting, which was closer to his mom’s hurried all-caps print.

It was 3:30, and practice started at 3:35, so players were appearing on the field. The sky was cloaked with grey clouds and humidity hung in the air, but the potential rainstorm didn’t seem to discourage their warm-up sprints and chatting.

Aziraphale continued his Jane Eyre impersonation by the bleachers, hoping simultaneously that somebody would talk to him and that nobody would notice him at all. 

The first hope had won out, it seemed, because Christopher Hastur was headed straight towards him with another player, who was slightly shorter than Christopher but more strongly built. 

“Hey,” said Christopher. Aziraphale could almost hear him say _ nerd _ at the end, as if they were trapped in an early-2000s rom-com.

“Hey,” said Aziraphale.

“Chris,” said Christopher, but thankfully neglected to hold out his hand for a handshake. His hands looked oily. 

“Aziraphale.”

Chris snorted. “Az-eye-raff-ell? What kind of name is that?”

“You’re mispronouncing it, actually,” said Aziraphale under his breath. “Uh, can I ask you a few questions?”

“Whatever, Raff,” said the other boy, who had yet to introduce himself.

_ Raff? _ Aziraphale held up his notepad and wrote _ Chris Hastur _ in it. “Er, what’s your name?”

“Cedric. Cedric Ligur.”

He wrote _ Cedric Ligur _ and asked the questions that Anathema had requested. Cedric and Chris answered them with matching sneers beginning to tug at the corners of their mouths. Aziraphale moved away as soon as he could. 

He interviewed, with a shaking smile, Demon after Demon: one named Beelz and one named Sayt, one with bright green socks and one with long blond hair. 

Finally, a coach blew his whistle and they jogged into place to play a game. 

Nobody sat on the bleacher closest to him, so he scrambled up and took notes on the game they were starting to play. Soccer. Aziraphale was strangely pleased when he saw the ginger boy from earlier. At least one familiar face that had been semi-nice to him.

Only a few minutes into the game, a short kid started yelling at the ginger boy. He hadn’t even told Aziraphale his name, but Aziraphale felt badly for him anyway.

He walked towards the bleacher and sat down by himself. Aziraphale considered getting up and walking over to him. Maybe he was the friend Aziraphale had been hoping for?

No. Aziraphale had Newton and Anathema, and Huda and all the other news staff now. He didn’t need some jerk on the soccer team.

But the profiles…

Aziraphale told himself it was all for the profiles as he stood up and stepped over to where the ginger boy was sitting. Not about how that red hair wasn’t leaving Aziraphale’s mind, or how his smirk left a strange flutter in Aziraphale’s chest. 

Aziraphale thought about introducing himself, then the boy turned his head. He hadn’t noticed Aziraphale yet, because he was watching the game with a vaguely forlorn look, but that wasn’t what took Aziraphale aback.

It was his _ eyes _. He wasn’t wearing sunglasses now, probably because they were likely to fall off his face while he ran around in soccer practice. They were utterly breathtaking in the sun, which was starting to consider setting, somewhat early because it was nearly proper autumn. At first, Aziraphale thought they might be hazel, but no - they looked almost _ yellow _, as if he was really some kind of reptile in disguise.

The boy turned his head and Aziraphale jumped. _ He’s cute. _ Without the sunglasses hiding his face, his sharp cheekbones and almost delicate jawline accentuated his tawny eyes. Aziraphale thought about the umbrella in his backpack as the humidity tried to force itself into his chest.

“Take a picture.”

“What?”

The boy ran a hand through his ginger hair. He had nice hands, too - slim bones and long fingers. “Take a picture. It lasts longer.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale blushed. So he’d noticed Aziraphale staring. 

“Crowley.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He sighed sharply and flung his finger at himself. “_ Crowley. _ My name is Crowley. Yo me llamo Crowley. Je m’appelle Crowley.”

“Yeah! Crowley. Sorry.” Aziraphale liked the sound of his name in his mouth: _ Crowley. _ “Crowley,” he said again.

“Your name too?”

“No! No, Aziraphale. That’s my name. They’re calling me Raff, for some reason… like Azi_raff_ale. Most people call me Az.”

“I thought you said your name was Aziraphale,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale nodded.

“Then I’ll call you Aziraphale.” Crowley looked like he’d just uncovered the obvious solution. If only everybody else thought the same way.

Aziraphale nodded again, this time with gratitude.

“It was my mom’s name.”

“What?” Aziraphale looked over to the soccer players. One of them had fallen to the ground. 

“Crowley. Her maiden name. She died when I was little. My dad is… weird. So I’m Crowley.”

“Your first name?”

Crowley shrugged. “Far as I know, yeah.” 

“Mine is from a book. Not even like, an old book. My dad sells old books,” Aziraphale added as way of explanation. “This nineties fantasy book by a guy Dad used to like. Aziraphale was an angel. In the book.”

“Our newspaper is the Angelic Times.”

Aziraphale remembered hearing that from Huda when they’d been talking. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, yeah.”

Crowley rested his heels on the bench in front of them. “Yeah?” he said, slightly amused.

“Yeah… I have to go.” Aziraphale said, standing up suddenly. Crowley was messing with his head. He was _ so cute, _ and Aziraphale just wanted to keep his head down, for the time being. It wasn’t as if Crowley was even in his _ league _ \- Aziraphale was a journalist, for Heavens’ sake, an awkward, anxious journalist in the same social circles as Newton Pulsifer. And Crowley was a soccer player, a _ jock, _ who was confident enough to grin and tell Aziraphale the story of his name.

Aziraphale didn’t like the feelings bubbling up in his chest, but if he ignored them, they would go away. He grabbed his backpack from the edge of the field, stuffed his pen and pad in the front pocket, and walked home.


	2. Crowley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Homophobic parent.

Crowley had been part of the soccer team since the beginning. Freshman year to be exact. His best friends, Hastur and Ligur, had signed up immediately so of course Crowley had to go along with them. This is not to say that he was particularly good at the sport. He wasn't. But the school was not very big and they had to let in everyone who tried out just to get a team together. Crowley usually sat on the bench for most of the game anyway. He had practice tonight, but at the moment he was waiting for the bus to take him to school. Hastur ran up next to him.

"Hey Crowman, what's up?" he gave Crowley a fist bump. "Ready for practice tonight?"

“Uh yeah, I am.” The bus rolled in front of them and let out a hiss as it stopped. The doors opened and the old bus driver gestured for them to get inside. Crowley began to walk on, but Hastur grabbed his arm to stop him. "Hey, let's skip today. I got a new video game I wanted to show you."

"What? No! Get... off." Crowley shook Hastur's arm from his. "I'm not skipping." he turned away and boarded the bus. The door shut behind him and he felt badly. Had he ruined his friendship with Hastur? No, that wouldn't make sense. Would he even come to practice? Yes, of course. Soccer was that boy's life. Crowley sighed and walked to his seat. _ Sure isn't mine, _ he thought. Ligur was in their regular spot, so Crowley sat beside him.

"Where's Hastur?" he asked.

“Oh er...” Crowley dumped his black backpack on the floor. “He’s skipping.”

“Oh.” Ligur frowned. Crowley wondered if Ligur would have taken up the offer himself. Or if he hoped Hastur had asked him. He turned so Crowley could see his amber eyes. 

“Do you think he’ll be back for practice?”

“Yeah, sure.” Crowley pulled out his sunglasses from his backpack. They were black and mirrored, so nobody could see his eyes. They were a light shade of hazel that looked tawny (in some lights, yellow) and people tended to make fun of them. Even his supposed best friends. He relaxed when he put them back on and laid back in his seat for the rest of the bumpy ride.

Crowley hadn’t realized he had fallen asleep until Ligur shook him awake. “Hey man, get up. Everyone’s left.”

“What? Oh sorry.” Crowley rubbed his eyes from behind his glasses and stood up. “I’m coming.” Ligur smirked and left the bus. Crowley grabbed his bag and rushed to meet up with him. To his surprise, Hastur was waiting outside, grumbling. Crowley gave a little wave.

“You didn’t skip then?” he asked.

“No. My mom drove me here. She said I couldn’t just stay home and play video games on a school day.”

“Right,” was all Crowley said as he walked inside. He sighed. What he wouldn’t give for his own mom to drive him to school, or help him with his homework. At the moment, Crowley wouldn’t have even minded a hug from her. He shook his head as we walked to his locker. Some people called his walk more of a “saunter” than an actual straight forward “walk.” Some people thought it made him look stupid, but others thought he looked sexy while doing it so he kept the stride. Crowley reached his locker and turned his combination. _4-0-0-4. _ It was easy to remember. It was the day his mom had died. April 4th, but with an extra “0” in the middle to zero-out the pain that came with it. He checked his schedule. Clubs was first, so that meant soccer. He sighed, grabbed his books, and shut his locker. He checked his phone to see the time. 5 minutes, oof not much left. He turned around and went in the general direction of the field. There was almost no one in the hallway, so he started to run. Just as he was to the door however, he ran into a slightly chubby blonde kid.

“I’m so sorry. So sorry.” the kid turned around so Crowley got a good look at him. He stared through his glasses. The kid’s eyes were a lovely color of hazel and his hair was in these adorable curls that made Crowle gape. a bit. He shut his mouth before the kid noticed. Crowley was vaguely aware the kid was talking, so he listened. “…where the newspaper is?”

“The newspaper? Uhh...” Crowley knew this one, and he pointed in its general direction. “Turn left. First door on your right.” _ Argh, this guy is so cute. I should ask his name… _ Crowley thought. But then he realized he needed to act way cooler. People on the soccer team don’t know where the newspaper club is. Even if that certain person had longed to join it ever since they came to this godforsaken school. “I don’t know why you’d wanna join, but have a blast.” He said. That should do it. 

“Thank you.” the kid ran away and Crowley shrugged. He checked his phone again. Two minutes to go. Crowley ran too, as fast as possible, which was Very Fast.

\---

At practice, Crowley watched as the kid -- Aziraphale, that was his name -- run off with his cute curls and notepad… he shook the ideas from his head as he saw Hastur and Ligur run up to him. 

“Hey, uh Captain Bee needs you Crowley.” Ligur pointed to said captain.

“What’s she need me for?” he asked.

“Just go.” Hastur rolled his startlingly dark eyes and strutted off. Crowley sighed and got up. He jogged over to the captain.

“What’s up, Bee?” Crowley asked.

“Oh, yes.” She glanced down at the clipboard she was holding. “Crowley, hullo.” she looked up at him with narrowed eyes. “Saw you with the angel.”

“I’m sorry, the what?” Crowley was confused. Bee thought he was an angel? Mhm. That might make a nice nickname…

“The _angel._ Our _enemy,_ Crowley. He’s on the newspaper club. _ The Angelic Times?_”

“Oh, right, right, yes, of course.” Crowley nodded along. “Mhm. Dreadful… angel.. Enemy. Yeah.”

“There’s only enough funding for one of us this year. We have to let the school know the _‘Angelic Times’_ isn't good enough anymore. If they can’t get stories on us, they won’t be needed. So don’t tell them any more, do you understand?”

“Of course, Captain Bee.”

“Good. Off you go then. Practice is over.” Crowley nodded and jogged off to grab his stuff.

\---

Crowley slammed his bedroom door shut and curled up in a few blankets. _Thiscannotbehappeningthiscannotbehappeningthiscannotbehappening._ He stared across the room to his snake Anthony’s tank. He stared at him and Anthony stared back until Crowley just screamed and wrapped himself tighter in the blankets. _I can’t like a guy,_ he thought. _I can’t. I had a girlfriend, Eden, I can’t be_ gay. _Nononono Dad’s going to_ kill _me._ As hard as Crowley tried to block out the thoughts of Aziraphale’s sweater vest and curls and _kindness_ and all the other lovely things about him they just seeped through the gaps in his mind. 

“Argh this is no good.” he grumbled to himself. He threw off his covers and headed back over to Anthony’s tank. He carefully undid the lid and took the snake out. He carried him over to his bed. Anthony wrapped himself around Crowley. He put on his headphones and heard _Another One Bites the Dust_ through his ears. These two things together always made Crowley feel much better. But what was he going to say to his dad? Francis Ashtoreth was a huge homophobe, and he didn’t exactly have a soft spot for Crowley as it was. Crowley ran a finger along Anthony tenderly. Maybe it really would be alright. 

His reassured thoughts were interrupted by a brief vision of Aziraphale kissing him. Crowley screamed again.

“Crowley Ashtoreth, come down here _now_.” he heard his father yell from downstairs. _Aah what does he want? Does he know?_ Crowley gulped and unwinded himself from Anthony. He set the snake in his terrarium and he took of his headphones. Crowley rushed down the steps to find his father waiting at the table with his hands folded neatly.

“Sit.” Crowley sat.

“What’s wrong dad?” he asked. “Did I, er, do something?”

“No no, you haven’t.” Crowley breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t in trouble. “Yet.” _Oh._ “Rumor has it that they’re cutting the funding and will be getting rid of one of the clubs. The two they have their eye on are--”

“Soccer and newspaper, yeah I know.” Crowley bit his lip. “Captain Bee told me today.”

“It’s one or the other Crowley, they’re going to have to pick. Your job is to make sure soccer stays in session, and don’t let petty little _newspaper club_ take over, can you do that for me?” Crowley nodded solemnly.

“‘Course Dad. I’ll make sure we stay.”

“Good. Off you go then.”


	3. Aziraphale

Aziraphale knew he was tired when he started forgetting commas. Aziraphale loved commas. He loved grammar in general, an infatuation that his father had also passed along to him. 

The apartment above Metra Fell’s bookstore was not large. Dad kept saying they would find somewhere more fitting for their current situation, but they never had. 

There was a foyer that doubled as a living room above the stairs from the bookshop, which lead into a hallway with three rooms stemming off from it. The bathroom, with a laundry machine and a dryer in the corner; Dad’s room, with its bookshelves so close together they hid the walls; and Aziraphale’s room, which he was sitting in at the moment.

Against the corner of the room, there was an old desk with a creamy white lamp on it that cast a soft circle of light across the desk and Aziraphale’s old Mac. Aziraphale had written up all the profiles of the soccer players, save one.

Crowley (last name???)  
Age: 16???  
Has been playing since: Probably forever, with the way he runs.   
Fun fact: Absolutely beautiful. Have you ever wanted anything you can’t have? I swear he has yellow snake eyes. 

Aziraphale deleted most of it and typed in something else.

Crowley (last name???)  
Age: 16???  
Has been playing since: Does it really matter??   
Fun fact: Probably an asshole. Either way, friends with assholes. Not very nice to strangers in the hallway asking for directions. 

Aziraphale stared at the updated profile. Anathema probably wouldn’t like it. He selected it from Crowley to directions and pressed delete again.

Yesterday, Anathema had given him her phone number, and he typed it into the Messages app on his computer now. 

**angelreporter:** Hello Anathema! It’s aziraphale. I may have forgotten one of the players’ interviews?

He closed his eyes and sent it.

In a few seconds, the computer binged and he checked his texts. 

**lasttruewitch:** everybody makes mistakes!! who was it, i have most of their numbers

**angelreporter:** Crowley. 

**lasttruewitch:** 👀

**angelreporter:** What?? 

**lasttruewitch:** idk… you seemed kinda flustered by him today

Aziraphale jumped and looked around. Had Anathema sent a spy after him to make sure he was doing his job? 

**angelreporter:** How do you know???

**lasttruewitch:** i have the players numbers remember

**angelreporter:** Oh yeah. 

Aziraphale felt foolish. He clicked over to his profiles document and sighed at the empty space. 

**angelreporter:** Whatever. I don’t like him or anything.

**lasttruewitch:** its none of my business. i’ll share the contact w/ you.

**angelreporter:** Thanks!!

Aziraphale spent a long while looking at the doc before another ding sounded across the room. Contact: Crowley Ashtoreth 😈 

Aziraphale saved the contact to his computer and then his phone, and then he hovered his cursor over Send message. 

Hey, pretty boy, he typed, giggling. He would never send anything that forward, but it was funny to think of a reality where he would. He would definitely have a boyfriend by now.

Aziraphale had grown up in NYC, which was overall pretty liberal and Democratic. His dad had never cared that Aziraphale was gay, and when he finally came out to his mom, she was too busy campaigning for Congress to say much anyway. She supported him after she lost, so it didn’t matter either way.

Aziraphale had always wondered if she was mad at him for it. As if his queerness was somehow attached to her loss. He had been thirteen, and ridden with guilt. He had somehow distracted her. If he hadn’t said anything, she’d have won the election.

Of course, that wasn’t true, and she’d told him as much on her visit to the city.

It was probably an unhealthy thing to hang on to, but Aziraphale always felt weird around her whenever he thought about her campaign.

He deleted the message, a blush flaring in his cheeks as he thought about the possibility of accidentally sending it. Instead, he composed a better text: 

angelreporter: Hi Crowley! It’s Aziraphale. I meant to interview you yesterday but I’m a new student and I was a bit overwhelmed - can we reschedule? 

Send message. 

He responded fairly quickly, especially considering it was around midnight. 

snazzysnek: Aziraphale. i’ll save ur number i guess.

Aziraphale wondered what he’d saved it as. 

angelreporter: Thanks! About the interview… 

snazzysnek: srry, too busy atm, maybe next month.

Next month? The first edition of the newspaper was definitely going to be out by next month. Why did cute boys never like him? 

Another notification on his computer. Aziraphale’s heart stopped. Had Crowley changed his mind?

No, it was Anathema, on the new Angelic Times group chat he’d just been invited to.

**lasttruewitch:** Hey guys. Sorry for the long message. I just got an email from Principal McDormand - the club funding has gone down. Way down. 

Aziraphale’s breath felt like it had left his lungs with four simple sentences. 

**lasttruewitch:** This means that one of the clubs will have to be removed. Now it might be something like comics or robotics seminar, but they don’t use a lot of money. 

Aziraphale closed his eyes before continuing to read. This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be happening.

**lasttruewitch:** Soccer, on the other hand, uses the school’s funds for jerseys, waterbottles, you name it. And newspaper uses a lot of the school’s material. It’s basically us or them. 

Us or them. Aziraphale remembered Crowley’s tawny eyes. Then he remembered Huda typing away at her computer.

Us or them.

**lasttruewitch:** I know this is really upsetting, but just remember - good always wins over evil. And the Angelic Times will triumph over the Demons.

Aziraphale closed his computer.

Aziraphale was going to be late for math class if he didn’t hurry up. But it was hard to hurry up when there were knots of students clogging the hallways, chattering about the new club funding cuts. “I wonder if we’re going to be okay…” “Those experimental math kids are waaay better than us, if it comes down to it they’ll take us out.” “Of course we’re not being considered! Right?”

Aziraphale apologized his way past a few students talking about Amateur Magic and finally, finally, made his way to the math classroom.

Ms. Maxwell-Martin gave a stern but very tired look at Aziraphale. “You’re very close to being late, Mr. Fell.”

Aziraphale murmured an I’m sorry but Ms. Maxwell-Martin didn’t seem to care all that much. She pointed to a table. “Sit there.”

“Hannah’s my lab partner, not…” Aziraphale caught the eyes of the person sitting at the table instead of Hannah. Oh. “Not Crowley.”

Ms. Maxwell-Martin shrugged. “I changed it up. Miss Hawkes is now taking physics, so you need a new person to sit with. Mr. Ashtoreth’s partner is no longer in our class, either, so I thought it would be a good match.”

Aziraphale sat down next to Crowley. Us or them. 

Crowley shot a side-eye at him. “Hey, angel.” It sounded like an insult from his perfect lips. Wait, no, not perfect. What? 

“Hey, Demon,” Aziraphale responded. It didn’t have the backhanded insult energy that Crowley’s name did. What was the Victorian-era pet name that Dad called everybody who he got angry at? 

“Pass the pencils?” There was one tin of pencils on their tables. They were a bit too juvenile for a high school math classroom. Flames were printed along the erasers, licking their way towards the pencil graphite.

Ah. There it was. Aziraphale knew exactly what he was going to call Crowley.

“Of course. Dear.”


	4. Crowley

Crowley was sitting in math class, daydreaming as he usually did, even before Aziraphale came into his life. But he shot back to reality when Aziraphale himself walked in the room. Of course, this was always inevitable, they were in the same class, after all. But then he started walking towards the seat next to Crowley. He had a small panic attack when Aziraphale actually sat down next to him. Aah! _I should say something. Ack what was that nickname I heard Bee say?_ “Hey angel.” Oof. That had come out a bit harsher than he had intended. He would have to work on it. 

“Hey, Demon.” Crowley found it quite amusing Aziraphale attempted to sound as menacing as he had. It hadn’t succeeded, of course. Crowley didn’t think anything cruel could come out of Aziraphale’s mouth. In fact… _no, stop it._ Crowley chided himself. Don’t think about those things. “Erm...” _Just say something you idiot!_ “Pass the pencils?” He gestured to the flame-licked utensils. Then Aziraphale made this sly face that sent a chill up Crowley’s back.

“Of course. Dear.” Crowley blushed harder than a ripe apple. _Dear? Why on earth would he call me Dear? That’s not right! What does this mean?_ He raised his hand. “Ms. Maxwell-Martin, may I go to the restroom please?”

Ms. Maxwell-Martin gestured vaguely. “Yes, hurry up.” Crowley got up and ran as fast as he could. He passed Aziraphale’s surprised expression by, and vaguely registered that Bennie had asked to be excused as well. They met in the hallway.

“Crowley what’s the matter?” She asked. Her 20s style hairdo bobbed up and down as she jogged towards him. She always wore black, but not in a goth, emo way like Crowley did. She wore black to look fancy, often opting for the occasional suit or dress, depending on her mood.

“What, oh um...” Crowley scratched the back of his neck and blushed harder. 

“Nothing I just… um… couldn’t breathe? And it made my face red maybe umm...” ah, she wasn’t going to believe him anyway. There was no point.

“Ohmigod Crowley are you _crushing_ on someone again?”

“No? I mean yes? I mean maybe?”

“Eee yes you are! I knew it!” Bennie jumped up and down excitedly. “Who is it? Deirdre? Harriet?” She elbowed him slyly. “Hastur...”

“What! No I would never… um…. I’m not--”

“Mhm. Haven’t you heard the rumors?” Bennie tilted her head inquisitive. Crowley had not heard any rumors, about himself or otherwise. He didn’t think it was a very good thing to be a part of.

“No… what are they?” Did he really want to hear this? Probably not.

“Well,” Bennie leaned in and lowered her voice. “Some people are saying that you’re…. Well that you’re bi.” Crowley was confused. He hadn’t heard the term before, much less knew what it meant.

“You know… that you like girls _and_ boys.” Bennie added helpfully. Oh. Oh! That’s it! He wasn’t gay. That was a relief. But this didn’t sound much better when Crowley thought of explaining it to his dad. Or Bennie for that matter. He tried to play it smooth.

“No, I’m not bi or anything. Just uh...” Crowley gestured to his whole body. “Just me, as usual.”

“Oh, alright then.” Bennie smiled at him. “Be what you want, yeah? I don’t have a problem with it.”

“Yeah, right sure.”

“So who’s your crush Crowley?” she implored. Ack, he needed to give a reasonable excuse… or just say someone else. Anyone else.

“Eden.” he blurted. “I am crushing. Er, again. On Eden Sylva.” Bennie clapped her hands together. 

“Ooh yes I knew you two’d get back together! You were _such_ a cute couple.”

“Mhm, yeah, adorable. Us. Uh, we better get back to class...”

“Oh, yes of course! Race you!” Bennie darted away before Crowley had a chance to object. He groaned and ran after her.

\---

“Ooh wonderful, you’re back!” Aziraphale said. Crowley noticed there were only two of the childish, but admittedly cool pencils left.

“Um, didn’t we have more before?” he asked as he sat back down. He made sure to scoot his chair as far away from Aziraphale as possible.

“Mhm?” Aziraphale looked up from his worksheet. “Oh, yes we did. I gave the rest to Adam and his friends over there.” He pointed to the small group of unpopular kids sitting in the corner desks. “They didn’t have any, so I did the right thing.” Aziraphale studied Crowley’s face. “At least, I hope I did. Don’t be mad.” Crowley shrugged his shoulders and focused back on the worksheet. Or at least appeared to. In reality he was still staring at Aziraphale from behind the glasses. He smiled softly to himself. Aziraphale really was just _that_ Good, wasn’t he?

“I don’t mind.” he finally said.

_Well shit._ Crowley thought. _I really am in love with this angel then, aren’t I?_ He side-eyed Aziraphale again. His face was lit up with absolute joy for solving those stupid equations. _Ugh how can this be happening to me?_ Crowley put his head in his hands. _I should have stayed with Eden. She was always a jerk but she was a_ girl _at least. Dad liked her, everyone else liked her. It didn’t really matter if she pushed me around. Bennie said we were a cute couple._ But then there was Aziraphale. Perfect, adorable, smart, sweet, amazing Aziraphale. 

Crowley found himself slipping back into the daydreaming stage from before, but everything was wrapped around Aziraphale this time. He imagined himself in a pleasant forest, walking hand in hand with Aziraphale. When Dream Crowley looked away to comment on the lovely shrubbery, Aziraphale planted a kiss right on his cheek. Then they were in a dark room on a bed. Aziraphale had his arms wrapped around Dream Crowley and they were kissing passionately. Visions flashed through his head of Aziraphale being his boyfriend. They held hands in the hallway, went to soccer games and watched from the beachers. Dream Crowley was not on the soccer team anymore. He was with Aziraphale, he didn’t need his fake friends anymore. In fact, Aziraphale wasn’t in the newspaper club anymore either. Maybe they were in a whole new club. Drama, music, maybe even gardening! 

Crowley’s mind drifted to himself and Aziraphale in a gardening club. They were knee deep in dirt and plants but they were laughing. Aziraphale’s soft face was lit up like a thousand stars.

Stars -- ooh, maybe astronomy club would be better. Dream Crowley and Aziraphale were on their backs looking up at the stars. Dream Crowley pointed out his favorite bit of the whole sky. Alpha Centauri. It reminded him of them, together. So close they were one. Dream Crowley turned over to look at Aziraphale and Aziraphale did the same. He pressed his lips against Aziraphale’s and they stayed for a long time under the moon and the stars. Together.

Crowley’s heart nearly broke in the wanting of this fantasy. He started shaking. 

“Are you alright, dear?” Aziraphale asked. He called him _dear_ again. Crowley’s head shot up. He studied Aziraphale’s face. He looked concerned about his table partner. _I wish you were my real partner._ Crowley’s brain thought. He shoved the idea deep down.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine, angel, no problem.” Crowley realized a moment too late that any harshness from the word “angel” he had vocalized before had been completely removed.

“Oh, okay then.” Aziraphale did that _thing_ again. That _smile_ like he was the happiest person in the world. The smile that made Crowley’s heart ache for just one small touch… _No. he thought. _Stop it. Focus on the math.__

__

__

So he did focus on it. Well, he focused on Aziraphale telling him about the math, but it was all the same, wasn’t it?

\---

“This is a disaster.” Crowley grumbled over greasy pizza at he and Bennie’s usual booth at Wayward Corn. He bit a bit of cheese off the slice and chewed sorrowfully. “I think I’m in love again.”

“Well, that’s great!” Bennie shouted with a mouthful of food. She spread her arms out, one slice of pizza still in one hand. A few grease droplets splattered the booth. “You’ve been sulking around a lot lately. This is just what you need. Of course… she might not want to get back together yet, but I’ll give her a little push.”

“What?” Crowley was confused. “I didn’t say who--”

“Don’t worry about it, Crowley. I’ve got you.” Bennie set down her pizza and scanned the diner. Most of the high schoolers liked to hang out here after school. And there was a good chance… _Shit,_ Crowley thought. There she was. Eden Sylva, pretty as ever. She was sitting along and eating a fruit bowl sadly. _God, does she have to rub it in like that?_ Crowley had been the one to suggest the breakup, and Eden had not taken it well. But it had been over a month. She should have been fine by now.

“Eden, hi!” Bennie waved and smiled broadly. Eden looked up and gave a half-enthusiastic wave back. Bennie gestured for her to come over. Crowley shook his head made warning signs with his hands but immediately stopped when Eden actually slip into the seat next to him.

“Oh, Crowley I’ve missed you!” She gave him a hug. Crowley grumbled something like _Yeah you too._

Bennie mouthed _See, I can make this happen._ Crowley gave her a sneer but she just gave him a smile.

“So how have you been, dearest?” Eden asked. _Don’t call me that,_ Crowley thought. _Aziraphale calls me dear, not you._ He sighed.

“Fine I guess. Um I have to go.” Crowley got up and bolted out the doors.

“What, no! Honey, come back!” he heard her say. Needless to say, he wasn’t going to be coming back.


	5. Aziraphale

“Do you believe in true love?” asked Aziraphale, pencil poised over paper as his subject bit her lip. Said subject was Mrs. Dowling, the practical, brunette school librarian who doubled as an unofficial counselor. (The real counselors were all sharp and unkind, and Aziraphale would _never_ talk to them about _anything_). 

Mrs. Dowling pursed her candy-apple red lips. “What do you mean by that, darling?”

It seemed like a pretty straightforward question, but Aziraphale clarified anyway. “You know. Having a _soulmate_. Or love at first sight. Or any of those storybook ideas of love.”

Mrs. Dowling picked up a collection of Mother Goose and scanned it to the computer. “That’s sort of a loaded question!” she laughed.

“Sorry,” Aziraphale said sheepishly. “Um… how would you describe love to somebody else, then?”

Mrs. Dowling put down the Mother Goose and picked up a slim purple volume. She flicked through the pages quickly, checking for damage. “It hurts,” she said finally.

That hadn’t been a question Aziraphale expected. _It hurts_. He remembered the pang in his chest when Crowley had said _Yeah, yeah, it’s fine angel, no problem._ As if _angel_ was no longer an insult but the kind of sugary-sweet name you called your lover. The longing for that was so painful he couldn’t breathe. “You mean… when you can’t have somebody?”

“Sometimes.” Mrs. Dowling seemed to know that Aziraphale was speaking from experience. “But sometimes it’s just the nature of love. When you want somebody enough… my mom used to say that loving somebody was giving them your heart. And giving somebody a part of yourself is never easy. It has to hurt if it means anything.”

“Can you take back your heart?”

Mrs. Dowling smiled sadly. “Not always, hon. Not always.”

\---

“Anathema,” said Aziraphale, catching her in the hallway after lunch. “I think I may have a problem.”

A pencil was tucked behind Anathema’s ear, and she was holding approximately a million notebooks. Aziraphale noticed that she was almost always chewing on her lip, or twisting her hair, or biting her nails. “Something so extremely important you can interrupt my planning? The first edition has to be out next Wednesday and it has to be _good_ \--”

“Yes, I’ve heard.” _From you. A million times._ “It’s kind of personal, actually.”

“Can it wait until we have secure funding?” Anathema’s steps quickened and Aziraphale had a suspicion she was trying to lose him.

_Not so fast._ He rushed after her, losing a pencil in the process. “Please, Anathema, it’s a crisis…”

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but our newspaper is about to be shut down. I can’t handle any more crises.”

Aziraphale dodged past a blonde girl with a HydroFlask. “Please, Anathema, it’s about Crowley --”

“Ah, Crowley. Have you gotten an interview with him?”

“That’s the problem!” Aziraphale eyed the door they were passing. He was ninety percent sure it was his Spanish classroom, where he was supposed to be in about three minutes. He was going to be late, wasn’t he?

Anathema whirled around suddenly and Aziraphale almost walked straight into her. “Look. You have to get that interview by Monday, got it?”

“But --” It was Thursday today.

“Got it?”

“Anathema, I --”

“_Got it?_” Anathema sounded more menacing than ever. 

“Yep.”

\---

Aziraphale scribbled his homework into his planner. _Spanish - write conjugations - due next Mon._ Along with his newspaper career which, if Anathema got any more stressed, might be a life-or-death assignment. 

One interview. Just one interview, and Aziraphale had already screwed everything up. 

Everybody around him was already gone, and the Spanish teacher was cleaning up in a way that made Aziraphale think that he should have been gone yesterday.

“Mrs. Perez?” he asked timidly. 

“¿Sí?” She snatched a forgotten journal from a chair with a menace that was not usually used for cardstock and paper. “_¿Sí?_ ¿Qué pasa?”

_The school librarian said something and I’m not sure who my heart belongs to. I’m going to mess up the whole paper because messing things up is what I do. In my last school, I joined the LGBTQ club and it got shut down within a week. I think I ruined my Mom’s Congress campaign._

“Never mind. Nothing.” Aziraphale unzipped his backpack and dropped his planner in it. “See you Monday, Mrs. Perez.”

“¡Lunes!” she corrected, and he smiled to himself as he left the classroom. Rain had been splattering against the window all period, and he doubted it was about to let up, so he went to his locker before heading outside. He kept a white, feather-patterned umbrella in there for a day when he might have to walk home in the rain. Like today.

It was bad luck to open an umbrella inside, and Aziraphale already had enough bad luck to last a lifetime, so he waited until he was in the lobby to click it open. To his surprise, Crowley Ashtoreth was standing there, tapping his foot against the floor, wearing sleek black AirPods. 

“What’s wrong? Don’t you have a bus?” Aziraphale said.

Crowley hummed something that sounded like his mom’s favorite song (Queen’s _You’re My Best Friend_) and didn’t offer another response.

“Crowley.”

Crowley slipped an AirPod out of his ear. “What is it, _angel_?” So he was back to insults. That was perfectly fine with Aziraphale. His heart was his own.

“Why are you in here?”

Crowley scowled and put the AirPod back in. 

“_Crowley_.” _You stubborn, beautiful boy._ “Are you afraid of the rain?”

“I’m not afraid of _water_.” Crowley took both AirPods out and paused his music on his phone. “Just. I have papers in my backpack that I can’t get all soggy.”

Aziraphale sighed in exasperation. “You should have brought an umbrella.”

“Shut up.”

Aziraphale waved him over. “Well. If they’re _important_ papers. Where do you live? Close?”

Crowley sputtered. “You’re going to walk me home?”

“Why not? Forward.” Aziraphale felt rather bold. He was taking his heart into his own hands. It wasn’t anybody’s. They walked to the main doors of the school, and Aziraphale held one open for his - for the Demon.

“We’re enemies, you know.”

“Mm-hmm.” Aziraphale stepped outside and held his umbrella out. Crowley ducked under it, hiding himself from the thick drops of water.

That evening, Aziraphale read more books than he ever had in one night. He started with _Jane Eyre_, because its grim longing was the most relatable thing he could find. Then _Pride and Prejudice_, for the sake of pre-Victorian romances, and _Emma_ for the sake of Jane Austen.

After he’d finished his romances, Aziraphale started on a biography about George Washington. And then checked the clock. Three AM.

“There has to be some way…” he said to himself. He traced a finger over a line about Virginia. “Some way to interview Crowley.”

Some way to not disappoint Anathema. Some way to make everything okay again. Some way not to fail.

Not that any of this was about _Crowley_. His little infatuation with Crowley was temporary. No, better than that - it was simply a slight attraction he just _wished_ himself into thinking he was… that he was in love. Aziraphale had never been in love.

It would be wonderful to be in love.

But Aziraphale was not.


	6. Crowley

_AAAAAHHHHH_ Crowley screamed internally on his way out the diner. He was not going to allow Eden back into his life. She was too _clingy_, too _mean_, too _everything_. Crowley knew in his heart Aziraphale would never do something like that.

He skidded out into the parking lot and hid in the ally by the diner. Why was this happening to him? It was unreasonable. Maybe if Aziraphale had never come to Terreville, he could have continued a nice little relationship with Eden. But he had come, the bastard. And now Crowley had to face this _crush_. It was a nightmare, honestly. The longing, the secrets, it was all too much. But somewhere deep in his heart, he felt _happy_. He loved the little flutters his chest gave him, and he still hung tightly on to that single strand of hope. Hope that Aziraphale maybe… just maybe might love him back.

But that was impossible. They were _enemies_. They couldn’t be together. Just imagine the controversy. It would never work.

His negative thoughts were drowned out with the memory of Aziraphale’s frosted curls and small smiles. His kind words and sweet attitude. And when, earlier that day, he had walked him home _in the rain_. Crowley never liked the rain. Bad things always seemed to happen in the rain.

His mind flashed to all those years ago. He couldn’t have been more than three or four, but it had burned in his mind ever since. He was playing with his teddy in his carseat. It was raining fairly hard, but it didn’t worry little Crowley. He was going to get ice cream. He loved ice cream. But then a bloody lorry came along. Crowley hated that bloody lorry. It wasn’t an American thing to say exactly, but that is what his mom had said when it hit their car and sent it spinning to the side of the road. Luckily, Crowley’s car seat and large teddy bear had kept him alive. His mother had not been as lucky. 

Tears stung at Crowley’s tawny eyes. He took his glasses off to wipe them. His mother had always loved the way his eyes caught the light and turned gold. Nobody else thought they were anything but freakish. 

His mom wouldn’t have cared whether he was bi or gay or straight. She would have loved him for who he was. She would have told him Eden was not the right one. And she never would be. 

Crowley put his glasses back on and stood up. He walked out of the ally. To his surprise, Eden and Bennie were there waiting for him. 

“There you are!” Bennie said. “We did know were you’d gone! But guess what.”

“What.” Crowley grumbled. He just wanted to go home and wrap himself in blankets and never come out of his bedroom again. 

“Eden here’s agreed to get back together! Isn’t that wonderful!” Bennie beamed. She honestly thought she was doing Crowley a favor. Crowley figures he owed it to her to plaster on the best fake smile he could muster. He even allowed his two teeth — that were a bit sharper than usual — to be seen. 

“Wonderful.” He said through gritted teeth. 

Eden squealed and wrapped him in another restraining hug. Then she planted a large kiss right on his lips. It didn’t feel _right_ to Crowley. It was fake. He knew she’d become that self absorbed jerk again eventually. 

He also couldn’t stop the thought running through his head wondering _ what if this was Aziraphale?_

Then it’d be real. Then it would feel _right_. He just knew it. 

He has to find a way to make this a reality. 

Crowley, through whatever means possible _had_ to kiss Aziraphale.


	7. Aziraphale

There was a beat to the lunch room, Aziraphale soon learned. He’d never been any good at music, but he could understand people if he watched long enough. 

Aziraphale fell into line for lunch after the soccer team and feather-white toothed popular kids. He clutched the edges of the lunch tray, looking around for a friend. Any friend. Any friend except for Crowley. He didn’t want to see Crowley. Whenever Aziraphale thought about Crowley, something not entirely disagreeable happened to his chest. 

Not that Crowley was a friend, anyway.

He was relieved to spot Newton Pulsifer holding a tray himself. “Hey, Aziraphale!” Newton pushed his taped glasses farther up his nose.

“Newt!” Aziraphale dropped back a few spaces in line to talk to him. “How’s it going?”

“I heard you were crushing on Crowley Ashtoreth?” 

Aziraphale stared. His grip on his lunch tray loosened and he fumbled with it, making sure he didn’t drop it. “I -- where did you hear that? I don’t have a crush on Crowley.”

“But you like guys?” Newton wedged his tray between his arm and his side. “Not that it’s a bad thing! Anathema’s bi, I mean, I’m not, you know, not okay with it or anything.”

“It’s fine! It’s fine. Yeah, I like guys. I’ve never liked girls, although many of them seem very nice. I’ve known since I was eleven.” Aziraphale wondered if Crowley liked guys at all. Maybe Crowley was straight?

No. Nobody who _sauntered_ like that could be straight. It was a very queer saunter, in Aziraphale’s opinion.

“But it’s not like I’m in love with Crowley.”

And then. _And then._

From behind him, a voice muttered, “Fa -”

And then a lot of things happened all at once. Aziraphale winced, waiting for the word to land, but the voice never finished the second syllable. Instead, he was cut off by a high-pitched yelp. Aziraphale and Newton turned around, Newton’s glasses slipping off his nose and bouncing once, twice, on the tiled cafeteria floor. 

As Newton scrambled to collect his miraculously unbroken glasses, Aziraphale caught eyes with his savior. 

She was one of Adam Young’s friends, the one who’d glared at him suspiciously when he’d gone over to their table that math class and given them the pencils. She was a good few inches shorter than him, but with the way she held himself, Aziraphlae felt like she was towering over him. The girl threw him a smirk and shook off her hand, as if it stung slightly from… 

Aziraphale looked down. One of the soccer players, he couldn’t remember his name, was lying on the floor and clutching his nose. Blood trickled between his fingers. He groaned.

Aziraphale smiled at the girl. “Thanks,” he said, somewhat ashamed that she’d had to step in.

She shrugged. “He deserved it, from what I could tell. Pepper.”

“Aziraphale.” He bit his lip as he watched Newton put his glasses on upside down. “Erm, that’s Newton. He’s…”

Pepper laughed. “Got it. You’re the one who gave us the pencils earlier, right? I owed you one.”

Aziraphale performed a mock bow, feeling the best he had in days. “Consider your debt repaid, Miss Pepper. But seriously. Thanks.” His old school might have been fairly liberal, but that didn’t mean Aziraphale hadn’t heard his fair share of slurs. And every time, they hit like a sharpened flaming pencil straight to the chest. He shivered, despite the summer warmth that September was determined to hold on to. 

“Don’t mention -” Pepper’s grinning response was soon cut off by an indignant girl, hand on her hips, helping the boy off the ground.

“_You just punched my boyfriend_,” she said, shock and anger written all ovr her face. “I’m going to tell the principal.”  
“Really?” said Newton, who’d finally gotten his glasses to properly sit on his nose. “From what I remember, the bullying policy says that slurs are decidedly _not_ allowed, Amanda. And we have several eyewitnesses.”

Aziraphale flushed with gratitude. Maybe this school year wouldn’t be so awful after all.

\---

After the encounter in the lunch room, Aziraphale didn’t feel very hungry. The word Amanda’s boyfriend had been about to say echoed over and over again in the back of his mind. 

He tried to remember Pepper’s punch instead.

“You all right?” Newton asked, taking a bite of his mystery lasagna. “If you’re bothered by something…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Aziraphale responded dismissively. He stabbed his lasagna, but there wasn’t much feeling behind the lunch massacre. He remembered what his mom did after she divorced his dad: she ran for office. She buried herself in paperwork. “I think I’m going to get some work done. Want my lunch?” 

“Not really, but I’ll take it,” said Newton, sliding Aziraphale’s tray away from him. Aziraphale slipped his backpack on and wandered the now-familiar path to the news room. It was odd how quickly he was adjusting to this place. Anathema and Newton were _good_ friends, but not his _best_ friends… there had to be some pinnable reason that he felt so in place here.

No. It couldn’t be. Aziraphale banished all thoughts of red-haired soccer players from his mind and pushed open the newsroom door. Nobody was inside, thankfully. He sighed as he dropped his bag onto a chair and took his computer out of it. 

_Crowley Ashtoreth._

Damn that uncompleted interview. Aziraphale closed his eyes, trying to dismiss the fantasies and daydreams determined to blur his reasonable thoughts into something more lovelorn. _Not love_, he reminded himself. Not even close.

“Climb every mountain…” sang the teachers’ desk quietly.

Aziraphale yelped. “Who is it? Who’s there?” 

Somebody stood up from behind the desk. Aziraphale’s ragged breathing slowed. He was a senior, with the look of a sand grouse. There was no better way to put it. His teeth were uneven and shimmered with gold, and his hair was dark, musty brown. “Just looking for something…” he hummed.

“You are? Or is that a line from the song?” Aziraphale said, blinking a few times. _Scared the life out of me,_ he thought, which was what his mom used to say every time he ran behind a tree and jumped out to scare her. It used to be their game, in the city.

“I was,” laughed the boy, holding up a ream of paper.

Aziraphale nodded. Something about him was off-putting. “Aziraphale,” he said by way of introduction. “I’m new.”

“Sandalphon. I’m not.”

He walked past Aziraphale, a strange glint to his eyes, muttering something very, very strange. _You can’t have a war without War…_

\---

Aziraphale didn’t head directly home after school. Instead, he went back to the newsroom for an emergency meeting of the _Angelic Times_, Sandalphon’s words still nested in his brain. _You can’t have a war without War…_

The entire news crew was already in the classroom when Aziraphale walked in. Late, fantastic. “What’s going on?” Aziraphale said quietly to Huda, sitting down in the empty spot next to her. 

“Anathema said…” Huda’s eyes unfocused from Aziraphale, instead glancing at the door. “They’re here.”

“Who’s here? This is all very ominous,” Aziraphale muttered to himself. The door to the classroom swung open and four figures strutted in. 

One was tall and sturdy, a smirk carving his lips. He was classically handsome, Aziraphale thought. Stereotypically handsome, almost. But stereotypically handsome was still handsome, as Aziraphale’s stomach was reminding him.

The next was a grinning young woman (girl was definitely the wrong word) wearing a soft grey blazer. Her inch-long false golden nails sparkled in the fluorescent lights, and her matching eyeshadow glimmered. Her hair was done up at her neck, not a single strand escaping the style.

Then, a teen with a slightly softer face. Their lipstick matched the previous woman’s nails and lids, but it seemed worlds different on them, for some reason. They were wearing undiluted white, and Aziraphale wondered how they hadn’t spilled anything on their clothes. They had a charm pinned into their hair, of two dove wings, spread open as if in flight. The same design was pinned to the woman’s lapel and embroidered on the boy’s breast pocket, although Aziraphale hadn’t noticed it at first.

Lastly, finally, was _Sandalphon_. He shot a grin at Aziraphale. He looked, somehow, very different than he had before, in a way that was impossible for Aziraphale to pin down. Was it…? No, what a small difference. But still, at his wrist, a watch, band emblazoned with a pair of white dove wings.

Aziraphale tried to hide himself into his chair. _You can’t have a war without War._ But Sandalphon’s eyes met his, and they seemed to see directly into Aziraphale’s conflicted, confused, frightened soul.

“Anathema,” said the first boy, the handsome one.

Anathema stood up. She’d been sitting next to Newton, conversing nervously, and now he watched her with caution. Aziraphale had no idea what was going on. But Anathema did. Her eyes burned with rebellious fury. But when she spoke, it was only one word: “Gabriel.”

The first boy chuckled. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You know exactly how I feel about seeing _you_ again,” Anathema hissed. Beside Aziraphale, Huda sat up a little straighter.

“What’s going on?” Aziraphale asked. As Anathema and Gabriel exchanged cooled pleasantries, Huda explained in a hushed voice. “They’re senior correspondents, technically. But Gabriel _should_ be the Editor in Chief, if we’re going by his experience. _But_, editor is an elected position in the _Angelic Times_, and the staff liked Anathema better, even though she’s a junior.”

“So he’s pissed.”

Huda nodded. “Super pissed.”

“But what’s happening now?”

Huda shrugged. “Well, best-case scenario is he and his crew have finally finished their articles. Worst-case is that they convinced our faculty advisor that the paper will be able to stay on under a senior editor.”

“He’s kicking Anathema out,” Aziraphale realized. This couldn’t be happening.

Gabriel clapped a few times in quick succession. “Hey, angels! We’ve got an announcement to make. Michael?”

The woman folded her arms and smiled, viciously. “Miss Device, would you like to do the honors?”

“Not particularly,” Anathema said, her chin held high. “But I will so _my_ crew doesn’t have to listen to you guys talk.”

Something broke in Aziraphale’s chest. He’d always cried too easily at movies, especially during final speeches. Where the battle was won…

“I can’t say we’ve been through a lot together.”

Or lost.

“It’s only been two short weeks. For some of you, only one week.” Anathema’s gaze landed on Aziraphale. He blinked, trying to bravely force away ridiculous tears. “Our first edition was going to be the best Terreville has ever seen. And maybe it still will be.”

Around the room, eyes closed, heads bowed.

“Maybe Gabriel and Uriel and Michael and Sandalphon will lead you all to the best newspaper the school has ever seen.” Even with her remarkably steady voice, her narrowed eyes betrayed her opinion on this idea. “Maybe you guys will be the best news crew this school has ever seen.”

It was unfair that this speech could not be accompanied by soft violins, thought Aziraphale angrily. 

“But I won’t be here to see it.”

It was silly to cry in a newspaper meeting, but Aziraphale felt the tears welling up behind his eyes anyway.

“Report the truth, first, and always,” said Anathema fiercely. “Long live the _Angelic Times_, no matter who’s editing it.”

The newsroom murmured the sentiment back quietly. It was almost as good as violins. “Long live the _Angelic Times_.”

Without another word, Anathema picked up her backpack and walked out.

This couldn’t be the end, thought Aziraphale. The heavy silence around him agreed. Something else is going to happen. Something else…

And something did. 

Newton rose from his chair, grasping his book bag with one hand, and solemnly followed his girlfriend out of the newsroom.

Aziraphale was stunned. This was not how it was supposed to go. Anathema gone, and these four dove-winged seniors were taking over the newspaper? Would it even matter if they won the fund battle?

Did he even want them to anymore?

“If anybody wants to leave,” said Michael. “You can go now.”

Aziraphale thought about leaving. Anathema was gone. So was Newton. But… but something in him desperately wanted to stay. _Why?_

No. Wait. No. Aziraphale’s blood raced, his face hot. But no matter which way he looked at it, he really, really wanted to stay in newspaper - and it was to catch another sweet moment with ginger-haired, yellow-eyed Crowley Ashtoreth.

Aziraphale didn’t leave.


	8. Crowley

Crowley took off his soccer cleats after another exhausting soccer practice. He had actually managed to make a goal this time though which was nice. He took a swig out of his water bottle. The water was hot and didn’t make him feel much better. His mood worsened when Captain Beelz jogged over to the bench.

“Crowley hello.” Beelz stood with her arms crossed. She loomed over him. Crowley felt small when she did this, like he wasn’t good enough for her. Then again, he probably wasn’t.

“Hey.” Crowley dunked the rest of the water to the back of his throat. He wiped his mouth. “What’s up?”

“We saw you’ve been assigned a seat next to the _enemy_ the other day.” How could he forget? It’s not like the “enemy” had been the only think Crowley thought about since the day he ran into him in the hallway.

“Yeah, what of it?” Crowley snarled, a cold edge to his words. “Ms. Maxwell-Martin just put me next to him. There’s nothing _wrong_ with that, is there?”

Beelz admired her nails as Hastur and Ligur stepped from behind her. Crowley gulped. Even though they were supposedly his friends, it was still intimidating. Did they suspect anything? 

“Oh, no, no nothing’s wrong.” Beelz said. Crowley relaxed a bit.

“We just want you to use this new...” Hastur searched for a word.

“Partnership.” Ligur sneered.

“Partnership.” Hastur leaned in close enough to Crowley their noses nearly touched. Crowley stared into the deep brown of his eyes. “To sabotage him.” Luckily, Crowley’s sunglasses covered his shock. He narrowed his eyebrows to repel the feelings.

“And what if I don’t?” Crowley taunted them. What could they do? Kick him off the team? That would be a welcome opportunity Crowley would take any day.

“We hope it won’t come to that.” Beelz pulled something out of her pocket and handed it to Crowley. He took it tenderly in his hands. It was just a picture. Crowley knew no real harm could truly come to him on account of one piece of laminated paper. But it was the image that sent a terrible feeling of dread through his bones. He knew how they got it. It was really a picture of him chugging a gallon of water in two minutes. But somehow Beelz had photoshopped it so it looked like he was draining a bottle of wine. There were also several unsavory items photoshopped onto the counter.

“I… didn’t do this.” Crowley shakily handed the photo back to Beelz.

“We know you didn’t.” Ligur said, crossing his arms.

“But Principal McDormand doesn’t know that.” Hastur pointed out, narrowing his eyes.

“And…” Beelz got a cruel look in her eye. She glanced at each of her wingmen before landing her view back on Crowley. He knew what was coming.

“Vice Principal Lucifer doesn’t know that.” Crowley’s heart filled with dread. Vice Principal Lucifer S. Anne was far _worse_ than the principal ever would be. He was cruel, strict, and had absolutely zero tolerance for any rule breaking. One glance at this photo, and Crowley would be done for.

“Fine. I’ll do it. Sabotage the angel, yeah.” Crowley mumbled. His shoulders closed in and his head was low. He looked small and powerless and he hated himself for it.

“Good.” Beelz turned curtly on her heel and strutted off the field. Hastur and Ligur followed suit.

Crowley put his head in his hands. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to rip off his sunglasses and tell them no. He could never sabotage the _Angelic Times_. Aziraphale would never forgive him. He would never love him. They could never be together, all of this was useless anyway.

Crowley angrily stuffed his cleats in his bag and stomped off the field, making sure to go the opposite direction of the other demons.

\---  
Crowley collapsed on his bed with a mix of exhaustion and fear coursing through him. How could he have let this happen? A text made itself known through a light vibration from Crowley’s phone. He picked it up with a sigh. The text was from Bennie.

**bentleyboi:** hey crowley um where are you? youre supposed to meet eden at bastille in like 5 minutes…

_Oh shit that’s right the date..._ Crowley thought. He had completely forgotten about the arrangement.

**snazzysnek:** yeah sure be right there forgot sorry

Crowley ran down the steps and out the door. His dad was still at work, and he probably wouldn’t have minded where Crowley went anyway.

\---  
“You know, I’m glad we’re back together.” Eden commented as she took a sip of water. They were at a booth again, but this time it wasn’t just the friendly meeting Crowley enjoyed with Bennie. Eden seemed honestly convinced Crowley was back to being her boyfriend. He most definitely wasn’t.

“I was just getting so _lonely_ without your company, Crowley.” she leaned in and put her hands over his. “And your kisses.” she pecked him lightly on the cheek. Crowley let out a little groan he hoped she didn’t hear.

“Yeah, missed you too, E.” Crowley picked up a large hamburger and bit into it, hoping he could chew it long enough so he wouldn’t have to be involved in too much conversation.

“So how’s soccer been? I went to every one of your games this summer. You were amazing! When’s your first game this season?”

“Friday.” Crowley said with his mouth full of food. Eden hated that, so she probably wouldn’t ask him any more until he swallowed.

“Oh, fantastic! I will most certainly attend.” Eden poked at her salad and ate it. It was obnoxiously dainty. Like she was pretending she was a queen other than just enjoying the meal.

Without realizing it at first, Crowley had finished his hamburger long before Eden was halfway through her salad. He had always been a fast eater, and he had meant to save this one. Now he was stuck watching her eat and his one excuse to not talk was gone.

“Ooh, do you think we could hold hands again in school? I really do miss that.” Eden wiped the grease off Crowley’s hands with her napkin and grabbed them again. “Damien was just _so_ jealous and he really deserved that, you know?”

“Um yeah.” Crowley shook his hands away from Eden’s grip. Now was a better time than ever to tell her. “Look Eden… I...” he glanced at her eyes. They were wide and innocent. Veering on the edge of puppy dog eyes, in fact. Crowley cringed as he said it. “I don’t want to be your boyfriend again.”

“What?” Oh god, she looked absolutely miserable. He shouldn’t have said anything. _He shouldn’t have said anything_. “Crowley, I thought you loved me! How could you!” She stood up with a huff. Her chin was twitching and her sad eyes welled up. “I’m leaving!” she left her salad -- and the bill -- on the table and left. Crowley slumped in his seat. This was definitely the _wrong_ thing to have done.

But then again…

The _feelings_ crept back into Crowley’s mind. If there was no more weight to hold from Eden… he could be free. Free to love someone else. Anyone else.

He could love Aziraphale.

Crowley took out his phone from his pocket and opened the messaging app. Yes, he still had the contact from Monday. He started the message.

**snazzysnek:** er hey angel  
**snazzysnek:** its me  
**snazzysnek:** crowley  
**snazzysnek:** from the soccer team  
**snazzysnek:** so yeah  
**snazzysnek:** hi

Crowley stared at his messages. There was nothing sadder than a string of texts all alone. But he needed to get Aziraphale to know him, _really know him_. Crowley willed Aziraphale to respond. He was probably busy with homework or newspaper or something that was decidedly _not_ responding to Crowley’s texts.

Five minutes later, the waiter had taken back the bill and Crowley was still sitting at the table, alone. Just like his texts. He heaved a sigh and started the walk home.

\---  
Crowley’s dad caught him when he tried to turn up the thermostat. He hated it when it was cold, so he had attempted a more comfortable environment for himself. Unfortunately, his dad liked the house to practically be an icebox. 

“Hey! Go back to your room, it’s past bedtime for you.” his dad said from the couch. He was proably watching some stupid show he wouldn’t enjoy. Crowley sneered with one finger over the button. He slumped back to his bedroom in defeat.

Under the covers, Crowley pulled out his phone again. No texts. Aziraphale had contacted him last time at midnight, so he was one that single strand of hope. He turned on the video app and selected _The Good Place_. It was his favorite show, so he figured it might make him feel better to some degree.

Hours later, he was debating whether to stop watching or move on to the next season. His brief debate was interrupted by a small buzz and a banner notification. It may not have been much, but to Crowley it was nothing short of a miracle.

Aziraphale had texted back.


	9. Aziraphale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is a very confused boy and Crowley is too flirty for his own good. 
> 
> We wrote this chapter together, so all the snazzysnek (Crowley) texts were written by me and the angelreporter (Aziraphale) and other paragraphs were written by Lily.

Aziraphale was nothing short of absolutely stunned when his phone binged. He’d been alphabetizing Dad’s new stock for the better part of the day, and when he heard the notification, he ignored it. Aziraphale told himself it was because he was busy and didn’t want to be distracted. What if he put a Dickens book in the G section? His father would probably lose all credibility as a bookseller.

If Aziraphale was being honest with himself, something that he preferred not to do as of late, it was because he was nervous. What if the text was from Anathema, announcing yet another fallback for the paper? Or the new editor, Gabriel (although he didn’t think Gabriel had his number) firing him from newspaper altogether? If that was even possible.

And there was the last possibility, the one that made him sick with odd longing. What if it was Crowley? What if something had changed between them? Aziraphale was afraid to find out what he’d do if Crowley suddenly changed his mind about their relationship. Not that they had a real relationship. By relationship, of course, he meant their general attitude towards each other. Because he would never want to date Crowley. Right?

When every book was in its proper, alphabetical place, Aziraphale found himself something else to do - finally hanging up the genre dividers on the bookshelves. Then he made himself a sandwich. Then he continued his binge of Jane Austen. 

That night, he lay in bed, unable to fall asleep. It was late, probably, and he had more work to do around the bookshop tomorrow. Not that Dad had asked for him to help. But he’d been out running errands all day, and Aziraphale had nothing better to do.

Besides. He didn’t want to see whatever notification was lying in wait for him on his phone’s lock screen.

Or maybe… How bad could it be? There was no way it was anything about news paper. He would’ve gotten several other texts afterwards (either Huda’s reaction, Anathema’s nagging, or Newton’s several versions of the same text due to his inability to work technology).

It was midnight. Aziraphale wasn’t thinking. Maybe he should have been.

Or maybe, sometimes, thinking overcomplicates things.

Aziraphale’s bare feet landed softly on the floor and he wandered over to his desk, where his phone was plugged in. One. Two. 

Three.

Aziraphale turned on the device and his heart just about stopped when he saw who’d texted him. 

**snazzysnek:** er hey angel  
**snazzysnek:** its me  
**snazzysnek:** crowley  
**snazzysnek:** from the soccer team  
**snazzysnek:** so yeah  
**snazzysnek:** hi

Aziraphale opened his phone as quickly as he could and typed out his answer.

**angelreporter:** Yes I saved your number. Hello Crowley

**snazzysnek:** hi um… how was your day?

**angelreporter:** Busy. I was working at my dad’s bookstore all day. Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner.

**snazzysnek:** nbd. Wait your dad owns a bookshop? That’s cool! I mean, i dont really read that much but it sounds fun.

**angelreporter:** Yeah. On Coelum. We owned one in the city too. We’re just relocating. 

**snazzysnek:** maybe i could stop by sometime :)

Aziraphale blushed at the thought of Crowley in their bookstore. In their home. It felt… not like an _invasion_ of privacy, but certainly not entirely proper. He’d probably been reading too much Austen.

**angelreporter:** You’re welcome to :)

**snazzysnek:** :D  
**snazzysnek:** oh and sorry about the reporting… um the other Demons dont want us to help out you guys and theyll have me totally screwed if i do

**angelreporter:** I don’t even know if I’m on that article anymore. We have a new editor now. He kicked Anathema out. 

**snazzysnek:** !!!  
**snazzysnek:** thats bullshit  
**snazzysnek:** i know anathema shes cool  
**snazzysnek:** who is it now?

**angelreporter:** His name is Gabriel  
**angelreporter:** I don’t know his last name but you’re right  
**angelreporter:** It is absolutely bullshit.

**snazzysnek:** heh well he sounds like a jerk  
**snazzysnek:** youre not tho  
**snazzysnek:** it was cool what you did with the pencils the other day

**angelreporter:** oh! Thank you. They just seemed like they needed some pencils

Aziraphale paused. _Wait._ He scrolled up, rereading Crowley’s text. _youre not tho_. It was thrilling, exciting, in a way it shouldn’t be. 

**snazzysnek:** Look er…  
**snazzysnek:** I was wondering  
**snazzysnek:** if you possibly  
**snazzysnek:** wanted to go  
**snazzysnek:** to um somewhere  
**snazzysnek:** with me  
**snazzysnek:** sometime?

Aziraphale gulped in a breath of air. Was Crowley really asking him out? Did he want Crowley to ask him out?

The answer was yes. The answer had always been yes. So perhaps Aziraphale had a tiny crush on him. Not a big deal. Teenagers have passing fancies. He didn’t even have _time_ to go on a date.

But nobody had ever asked Aziraphale out before… and he so desperately wanted to say yes.

**angelreporter:** I would love to

**snazzysnek:** awesome!!  
**snazzysnek:** but you know, as friends, of course  
**snazzysnek:** i had a gf so you know…  
**snazzysnek:** i broke up with her tho…  
**snazzysnek:** she sucked.

**angelreporter:** Ugh that sucks.   
**angelreporter:** So you’re single?  
**angelreporter:** Not that I care

**snazzysnek:** i'm single, angel ;)

_Oh. My. God._ Crowley was flirting with him. Crowley Ashtoreth was _flirting with him._ Aziraphale could have fainted right then and there. _Now. How do you flirt back?_

**angelreporter:** Good to know. 

**snazzysnek:** so  
**snazzysnek:** whats your favorite show

**angelreporter:** I guess I don’t watch a lot of shows  
**angelreporter:** I like that one with Ted Danson in it though

**snazzysnek:** erm dunno who ted danson is

**angelreporter:** Ted Danson!! Wait lemme look it up  
**angelreporter:** The Good Place

**snazzysnek:** Oh that guy!  
**snazzysnek:** i dont look up actors  
**snazzysnek:** i just like their shows :)  
**snazzysnek:** i was actually watching tgp before you texted back. Its my favorite :)

**angelreporter:** Awesome! Maybe we should watch together sometime

**snazzysnek:** its a date.  
**snazzysnek:** i mean  
**snazzysnek:** er  
**snazzysnek:** yes definitely we should do that sometime

**angelreporter:** :)  
**angelreporter:** How do you feel about sci fi?

**snazzysnek:** sci fi’s cool. Spacey-ness.

**angelreporter:** Like what? I’ve been looking for something to watch.  
**angelreporter:** Old or new. But classic, you know.

**snazzysnek:** ooh ooh doctor who is awesome.  
**snazzysnek:** its old AND new

**angelreporter:** Good to know, good to know  
**angelreporter:** Doesn’t that have a million seasons though where should I start

**snazzysnek:** if you want old four’s nice.  
**snazzysnek:** new and ten’s your man.

**angelreporter:** ???

**snazzysnek:** tom baker and david tennant play them erm season…   
**snazzysnek:** two of the new series for ten  
**snazzysnek:** idk about four…  
**snazzysnek:** i'm too tired to look it up tbh

**angelreporter:** Good actors though?

**snazzysnek:** oh yes  
**snazzysnek:** i may have once had a little crush on the latter…  
**snazzysnek:** maybe  
**snazzysnek:** actually maybe i didnt idk  
**snazzysnek:** probably not  
**snazzysnek:** but a little bit

**angelreporter:** looking him up… 

**snazzysnek:** *jeopardy theme plays*

**angelreporter:** Oh my

**snazzysnek:** >:)

**angelreporter:** A LITTLE BIT  
**angelreporter:** I’VE NEVER SEEN HIM IN ANYTHING AND I MIGHT BE IN LOVE

**snazzysnek:** rats  
**snazzysnek:** plz dont  
**snazzysnek:** i mean not that i care you know  
**snazzysnek:** but please dont

**angelreporter:** HAVE YOU SEEN HIM   
**angelreporter:** i definitely have to watch this  
**angelreporter:** wait wait wait why

**snazzysnek:** yeah ive seen him!  
**snazzysnek:** erm no reason  
**snazzysnek:** just like  
**snazzysnek:** yeah  
**snazzysnek:** dont be in love with him  
**snazzysnek:** because then you cant be in love with  
**snazzysnek:** other  
**snazzysnek:** people  
**snazzysnek:** you know in general

Aziraphale wished it was slightly less late at night so he could frantically text Anathema. Did this mean…? Was Crowley _in love with him?_ Was he in love with Crowley? (No. Obviously not.)

**snazzysnek:** obviously

**angelreporter:** I’ve never the met the man I’m not actually in love  
**angelreporter:** Are you okay

**snazzysnek:** *wheezes* no i'm never okay  
**snazzysnek:** except when i'm thinking about you  
**snazzysnek:** obviously

**angelreporter:** Is this conversation actually happening  
**angelreporter:** Please I’m very confused

**snazzysnek:** yeah its happening  
**snazzysnek:** sorry for confusing you angel  
**snazzysnek:** i wont do it again  
**snazzysnek:** or maybe i will  
**snazzysnek:** ❤️

**angelreporter:** Where are you  
**angelreporter:** Why are you making fun of me 

Aziraphale shouldn’t be trusting Crowley, but maybe that little crush was quite possibly a very much larger crush than he’d told himself.

**snazzysnek:** i'm not making fun!!  
**snazzysnek:** i'm sorry  
**snazzysnek:** forgive me  
**snazzysnek:** please dont hate me  
**snazzysnek:** ill go  
**snazzysnek:** ignore me

**angelreporter:** No!  
**angelreporter:** Please don’t go  
**angelreporter:** Where are you  
**angelreporter:** Can you be at the park in five

**snazzysnek:** the park in five…  
**snazzysnek:** yeah i could  
**snazzysnek:** race you


	10. Crowley

_Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god._ Crowley couldn’t stop the excited thoughts racing through his head as he threw on his jacket. Aziraphale had asked him to go to the park. _The park._ In the middle of the night.

This could not be real.

But it was.

Crowley slowly creeped down the steps. His dad was fast asleep on the couch with a violent tv show playing loudly. He wouldn’t be heard.

He carefully opened the front door and stepped out in his pajamas. His bottoms were red and black, his favorite colors. His t-shirt was also black. Hopefully nobody could see him in the dark with that outfit. Well, except Aziraphale. He hoped Aziraphale would see him.

Crowley ran to the park. It wasn’t far away, so he got there in about two minutes. Aziraphale was there waiting for him. He beamed and rushed to his side.

“Angel! You’re here!” he said in a loud whisper.

Aziraphale waved. “I’m here!”

Crowley grabbed one arm shyly. “I was worried you were lying maybe...”

Aziraphale tilted his head to the side, quirking his eyebrow adorably. “Why would I be lying?”

“Because...” Crowley search for an explanation. “I dunno. I guess I’m not very used to trusting people...” He looked down and then up again back at Aziraphale. “But you’re different, angel.”

“I think you can trust me,” said Aziraphale softly. “When you were… talking, earlier. Do you… Are you…” 

“I think… so.” Crowley nodded. “It’s all very confusing for me, I mean, I… I’ve never met someone like you. You’re absolutely _perfect_, you know that, right? But I...” he took a shaky breath. “My dad hates me, the Demons hate me, everyone just sort of shares a general distaste for me. But you...” Crowley chuckled a bit. “You’re the first person who’s ever really been nice to me. I’d like to thank you for that.”

“Oh, well...” Aziraphale stepped in a bit closer to Crowley. “You’re quite welcome.”

“Can I kiss you?” Crowley asked. It was the one thing he had always wanted. The one thing that all _longing_ had told him he needed to do. And now was the time.

“Kiss? Crowley I--” but Crowley didn’t care what Aziraphale was going to say. He wrapped his arms around his shoulder and pressed his lips against Aziraphale’s. 

Kissing Aziraphale was very different from kissing Eden. Eden was sure, precise, domineering. She knew where she wanted to put her hands, her lips, and she broke off the kiss when she was quite ready. Eden had usually tasted sickly sweet, like artificial cherry and sugary vanilla. 

Aziraphale was just as unsure as Crowley was, and he found it reassuring. He fumbled a bit when they first started kissing, pulling away for a single, cold second before returning his mouth to Crowley’s mouth. And _oh,_ he tasted wonderful. Crowley should have been kissing Aziraphale from the moment he saw the beautiful, beautiful boy. He tasted of old books and secretive winks, and fire on a cold afternoon, and sweet chocolate.

And he was very good at kissing, despite his nervousness. After a few seconds, he took a small step forward and pulled Crowley closer, his fingertips curling around the back of Crowley’s head. His lips were warm against Crowley’s, and Crowley wanted to kiss him forever and ever. 

Unfortunately, Aziraphale pulled back before forever, stepping away and leaving Crowley blushing and gasping by himself. The kiss had probably been less than a minute, but it had seemed longer, somehow. And yet not quite long enough.

“What was that?” Aziraphale asked, his voice quiet enough to drown in. 

“That…” Crowley breathed. “That… I think that was love.” It had felt so strange, but so pure at the same time. “Can we do it again?” he asked.

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide. “What? Are you - we can’t -” He took a breath, composing himself. “This. Can never. Work.”

Crowley started. “What?” No, this wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t fair. “Aziraphale, of course it will work! Did you not just see what we did? We _worked_ together, angel.”

“We shouldn’t be.” He looked like his doubt was growing by the minute. “We’re _enemies_.”

Crowley hung on to any last strand that would keep his angel’s love. No, not _his angel_. Just Aziraphale. “But we don’t _have_to be enemies! I’m a horrible soccer player, and you haven’t been on newspaper for more than a week! We would go off together, join another club. Like… I dunno.” Crowley looked up at the sky. 

The stars twinkled brightly. It was like a thousand lights shining just for them. Everyone else in the neighborhood was asleep, completely oblivious to these small, stolen moments. Maybe it was selfish, but Crowley wanted more. He _wanted_ Aziraphale to be his angel. Probably more than he had ever wanted anything before. “Please, angel. Stay with me.”

Aziraphale wrung his hands. He looked contradicted, like he was really deciding between Crowley and the newspaper. Or maybe it was just Crowley’s subconscious desire for Aziraphale to even think of wanting him. It was ridiculous, anyway.

An angel could never love a Demon.

Aziraphale’s eyes welled up. “Goodbye, Crowley.” He turned away and walked back in what Crowley could only assume was the general direction of the bookshop. Crowley reached to pull off his sunglasses but he realized they’d been off the whole time. _Stupid, stupid idea, this was. You’ve went and blew it, now, haven’t you?_ Crowley kicked up some wood chips and let out a grunt of exertion and anger. When he was quite sure Aziraphale was long gone and was never coming back, Crowley collapsed on his knees and cried. He felt weak and stupid doing it. He hadn’t even known Aziraphale all that long. Nothing was ever going to happen between them, ever. It had been a completely ridiculous thought.

Aziraphale probably had never even wanted that kiss. And yet... it had been such a wonderful kiss…

That was it. Crowley wiped his eyes and stood up. He still had a chance, he knew it. He could get Aziraphale to love him back. Crowley picked up his jacket from the ground and put it on, shivering as he started the walk home.  
\---  
“Where the _hell_ were you?” Crowley was greeted as he tried sneaking through the door. His dad had caught him and he was most definitely screwed.

“I was… just… getting air.” Crowley stammered. He didn’t know how his dad would react if he told him he had just kissed another guy. Let alone someone on the _Angelic Times_. Crowley’s dad was a huge supporter of the Demon’s soccer team. He was the coach and was fighting vigorously to get the funding necessary from the Principal. For anyone else, this might have been much more difficult. This was not the case for Vice Principal Lucifer Sayt Anne Ashtoreth.

“Is that so?” Lucifer sneered. “Well. I shouldn’t let you get by with this should it?” Crowley gulped. His father’s punishments could be harsh. So harsh, that sometimes Crowley felt like he was falling down a deep hole. The sunlight slowing retreating until there was nothing but a dark void of infinite nothing. He hoped his small outing wouldn’t take him to that level of extreme. Besides, it had only happened once before, the Worst Punishment. He didn’t plan to allow it to happen again.

“You’re going to practice soccer. Everyday.” Lucifer sternly said. Crowley could see the veins on his temple thicken with stress. His fae was turning a worrying shade of red as well. Crowley shivered.  
“I can’t practice every day, dad! I have homework and things...” he tried to protest. He could see the anger in his father’s eyes, and he knew it he would lose this fight.  
“You will. In fact, I will make all the other Demons suffer this punishment with you.” Lucifer’s red face slowly turned to a normal shade as what Crowley knew was the devilish thoughts of punishing the whole team seeped into his mind.  
“Now go to bed. And _don’t_ leave again.”

—-

Crowley slipped under the covers, and after a brief check of the door, took out his phone. He re-read all the texts Aziraphale had sent him, smiling a bit. Before he went to bed, he made sure to send one more text.

**snazzysnek:** im sorry


	11. Aziraphale

Aziraphale was in the best mood than he’d been since joining Terreville. Or so he told himself.

He whistled as he whisked. He’d decided to make an devil’s food cake, because baking always cheered him up. Not that Aziraphale _needed_ cheering up. Why would he? He was in a good mood.

If Aziraphale _wasn’t_ in a good mood, then he’d really be in love with Crowley. And he wasn’t! He was basically over his crush. Even if he’d thought it mattered back in the park.

The park… Aziraphale closed his eyes for the barest moment, remembering how Crowley had kissed him until he couldn’t breathe. God, he wanted more of that. 

No. He didn’t.

Aziraphale opened his eyes and sighed. He’d splattered batter all over the counter. That was what came of sneaking out to kiss cute ginger boys late at night. Aziraphale was exhausted. He wished he’d never thought of meeting Crowley in the park, never returned the kiss. Or better yet, never spoken to the boy at all. 

Aziraphale looked down at the batter. It was now fully mixed. Several times over.

He walked over to the garbage, considering throwing it out. You couldn’t ruin cake batter just by mixing it. But still, he obviously wasn’t paying enough attention. 

Aziraphale looked at the cake batter. He didn’t care for Crowley. He didn’t care for Crowley. He didn’t… 

What an idiot he was. _Devil’s food cake_? He obviously felt guilty. Devil’s food cake. Crowley was a Demon. 

Aziraphale cursed his ability to self-analyze as he poured the batter into a cake pan and slid the pan into the preheated stove. 

He stared at his phone, and the message Crowley had sent. 

**snazzysnek:** im sorry

Aziraphale thought about texting him. But what? 

**angelreporter:** Me too. 

He deleted the text and tried again.

**angelreporter:** I should be the one apologizing. I was the one who bolted. The kiss was fantastic.

The kiss _was_ fantastic. So fantastic he could still feel the warmth of Crowley’s mouth. So fantastic he couldn’t stop thinking about it. So fantastic…

But he wasn’t in love. Not even close. 

**angelreporter:** I’m so confused. I don’t know how I feel about you, but you’re so cute and I want to kiss you until your lips are sore.

Aziraphale deleted that quickly. What if he accidentally _sent_ it? A terrible thought. But Crowley would be so happy… What if Aziraphale just left? What if he just removed himself from the funding war, ignored the newspaper, and went out with Crowley? Kissed him everyday. Ate pizza at that cute place… Bastille?

Aziraphale drafted one last text. 

**angelreporter:** We could still watch Doctor Who, sometime. 

Send.

**snazzysnek:** really? So ur not mad?

**angelreporter:** No. I’m not mad.  
**angelreporter:** A little…   
**angelreporter:** I don’t know. I really don’t know.

**snazzysnek:** i got in trouble w my dad  
**snazzysnek:** just fyi

**angelreporter:** Oh my God. Are you okay?   
**angelreporter:** Crowley. Crowley. Are you okay.

**snazzysnek:** i'm fine angel dont worry  
**snazzysnek:** but i have soccer every day now  
**snazzysnek:** and er hes really kind of homophobic so if you ever see him DONT SAY ANYTHING  
**snazzysnek:** please

**angelreporter:** Of course, I promise. Ugh that sucks. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault  
**angelreporter:** I should never have asked you to come meet me.

**snazzysnek:** no no i'm glad you did  
**snazzysnek:** i think that kiss was worth a few extra soccer practices ;)

Aziraphale’s face flushed with warmth. Crowley thought he was good at kissing. _Crowley thought he was good at kissing._ He wanted to do a happy little wiggle at the thought. 

But more than that, he wanted to kiss him again. 

**angelreporter:** Er. Yes, rather.

**snazzysnek:** erm i mean  
**snazzysnek:** sorry  
**snazzysnek:** it was nice tho

**angelreporter:** It was nice.

**snazzysnek:** maybe we could do it again…?   
**snazzysnek:** i mean… only if you want.  
**snazzysnek:** my next game’s friday.  
**snazzysnek:** you could come :)

Crowley wanted to kiss him again. And Aziraphale wouldn’t be opposed to it. In fact, he relished the thought of kissing Crowley again. Perhaps he would nip at Crowley’s lips, watching him squirm and flush. 

**angelreporter:** Maybe I will. But I believe you still owe me an interview?

**snazzysnek:** oh yes the interview…  
**snazzysnek:** well hastur and ligur already gave you brief ones so I guess I could maybe be excused…  
**snazzysnek:** not too much info tho  
**snazzysnek:** they’ll be after me w the practices too…

**angelreporter:** I’m sure I could catch you after the game?  
**angelreporter:** Gabriel will have my hide if I don’t turn that article in by next week.

**snazzysnek:** well we could do it now

**angelreporter:** Over text? Or in person?

**snazzysnek:** sigh i suppose text. my dad would prob murder me or something not too far from that

**angelreporter:** :( Sorry. That’s awful.

Aziraphale stood up and started walking towards the refrigerator, to give himself something other than Crowley’s mouth to think about. 

**angelreporter:** If it was possible… would you want to see me? I get it if you don’t. 

He opened the fridge door and looked intently at a carton of milk. Did they have any clean glasses? Aziraphale stared at the closed cabinet from across the room, as if he could supernaturally see through the wood.

He gave up and walked over to the cabinet. 

**snazzysnek:** i would love to see you angel. just... at the moment…

Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat for a dizzying second. What had he been getting?

Glass. Yes. Aziraphale opened the cabinet. A few glasses on the top shelf. Aziraphale stood on his tiptoes to try and reach a glass, but his fingers just scraped against the edge of the cup. 

Aziraphale let out a breath and set down his phone to clamber onto the counter. He opened the cabinet door, standing on his knees, and his fingers closed around the glass. Finally. 

As he climbed back down, he checked his phone again, seeing that giddying message. He would like to see Crowley again, too. Very much so. An idea began to uncurl in the corner of his mind.

**angelreporter:** Give me a sec. 

Aziraphale opened the Terreville district website and logged into the student portal. _Teacher Directory._ Perfect. He searched _Ashtoreth_ and got Lucifer Sayt Anne Ashtoreth’s email adress.

Aziraphale typed an email draft and then hit his thumb on send without hestitaion.

**snazzysnek:** erm… okay… what are you planning here?

**angelreporter:** I sent your dad an email explaining that we have a science project due soon and that we had to work on it over the weekend. :)

If it was possible to pour milk triumphantly, Aziraphale did. And then took a small sip. Refreshingly cold. 

**snazzysnek:** oh!  
**snazzysnek:** that was  
**snazzysnek:** actually really nice  
**snazzysnek:** thx angel  
**snazzysnek:** perhaps we can work on the “science project” now… i’ll ask him

Aziraphale wondered if Crowley’s several texts all at once meant he was flustered. He hoped so. 

**angelreporter:** :) Great! Do you know where the shop is?

**snazzysnek:** yep. 42 Coelum Avenue

Aziraphale had to check that against his memorized information about the shop. It wasn’t second nature. Yet. 

**angelreporter:** See you soon?

**snazzysnek:** open the door plz. its locked 

**angelreporter:** On it. Sorry. We’re not open right now so I locked up. 

Aziraphale rushed to the door. It was thick, solid, old wood, so he couldn’t see Crowley yet. Oh, how desperately he wanted to. He fished the key out of his pocket and turned it in the lock, and pulled it open. 

Crowley was standing in the doorway. He gave a little wave. “Morning.” he said.

Aziraphale found himself suddenly bashful. This was much easier when he couldn’t see Crowley’s beautiful _face._ “Morning.”

Aziraphale was quite flustered when Crowley moved forward and wrapped his arms around him. “I’m really really sorry about last night, really.” Crowley’s words were muffled by Aziraphale’s sweater vest. He pulled away, too soon in Aziraphale’s opinion. 

“No homo, but like… you smell kinda nice.” Crowley blushed, his fingers twisting together as if he was unsure whether to hang them at his sides or clasp them in front of him. “Actually...” he kissed Aziraphale on the cheek. “Very homo.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale giggled. “Thank you. I have a cake baking right now. Maybe we could have some later?” 

“Cake? Wow, been a while. Sure! But we better work on that science project first, eh?” Crowley elbowed Aziraphale’s arm lightly and smiled. 

Aziraphale glanced around. They were still standing in the doorway. “Come in. I’m sorry. I was…. Sorry.” Aziraphale stumbled back to give Crowley room to come inside.

Crowley nodded and stepped through the door and into the center of the bookshop. His eyes darted around the room. Or, in theory, as he was still wearing those sunglasses. “It’s nice here. Cozy.” His head turned back to look at Aziraphale. “So what kinds of stuff do you need to know?” he asked.

“Oh. Let me go get my laptop. Don’t break anything while I’m gone.” Aziraphale dashed upstairs, his blood still thrumming from the barest touch of Crowley’s lips on his face. He unplugged the computer, scooped it into his arms, and ran back down to the bookshop. Crowley was still standing near the door. 

“We could, you know, do this upstairs.” Aziraphale flushed as he realized the implications of his words. “I meant - we have a dining table, I could get you a snack…” 

Crowley nodded. “A snack sounds good.” he stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his feet. “Maybe you could show me around...” He turned his head more so Aziraphale could see he was looking around again. “Dining room, book… room...” he turned back to face Aziraphale. He pushed down his glasses so he could see his tawny eyes. “Bedroom?” The glasses were returned to their original spot almost immediately but Aziraphale had seen the glint of mischief in his eyes. “Not that I’m implying anything. Just curious.”

Aziraphale wanted to scold him and melt into an angel-reporter-shaped puddle of bashfulness all at once. “Yeah, my bedroom and my dad’s are upstairs. Along with all the other rooms an apartment usually has. Ours is just on top of a bookstore.” Aziraphale looked at Crowley’s mouth for a single second, but it was a mistake. Those perfectly shaped lips… _Stop embarrassing yourself, Fell._

“Cool!” Crowley looked around the bookstore-level floor one last time and headed up the steps snaking to the top floor. He headed up them, one hand rubbing against the wooden ledge as he ascended. 

Aziraphale followed, nervously. Why was he so frightened of this boy? No, more exactly: why was he so frightened of what this boy thought of him?

The stairs ended and Aziraphale nearly walked into Crowley, who’d paused, probably because he was unsure of where to go next. “Sorry! Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, angel!” Crowley stepped aside and waved Aziraphale up. “Where are we going?”

“Kitchen. Dining room. Same room. Haha,” Aziraphale said, getting the distinct sense he was rambling. “You know.” He walked over to the dining room and held the door for Crowley.   
“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Crowley walked over to the dining table and chose a chair to perch on, his shoes curled underneath him. “So, interview?”

“You can take your shoes off, by the way,” said Aziraphale. He sat down across from Crowley. “Can I get you something to drink?” 

“Sure.” Crowley bounced on his heels. “Ginger ale?”

“Water?” Aziraphale countered. “Nothing interesting yet. We did just move here.” Aziraphale slid off his chair and padded over to the fridge. 

Crowley shrugged. “Water’s good.”

“We have milk, too - come here and look at the refrigerator.” Aziraphale moved aside and pointed to the open fridge. 

Crowley jumped off the chair with surprising agility. He leaned down and unlaced his sneakers, then stepped out of the shoes one by one. “’Kay.” Crowley bounded over to Aziraphale. How much energy did this boy have?

“There’s… a bit of apple cider left, I guess…” said Aziraphale, forced to trail off as Crowley kissed him, gently.

Crowley turned his head towards the open fridge and tap, tap, tapped his socked foot on the floor. “Cider’s good.”

Aziraphale was outraged. _You can’t just_ kiss _a person and ignore them,_ he thought. “Mm-hmm,” he said. “Wait. We… uh… don’t have any glasses left. Maybe… uh, maybe… cider is a bad idea,” he said, losing trail of his train of thought several times.

“That’s okay,” said Crowley, closing the fridge. “I wasn’t like, emotionally attached to the cider.”

“Good,” Aziraphale laughed awkwardly. 

“Yeah.” 

“So, uh, how’s… soccer, going?” Aziraphale looked at the ground, face flaming. 

“Not well…?”

“Sorry.” 

Crowley pushed his sunglasses up into his hair, and Aziraphale marveled at at how pretty his eyes were, again. “Why am I here?”

Aziraphale’s shoulder’s started to snug up to his ears. “Uh. Interview?” _Kiss him. Stop thinking and kiss him._ Whose voice was that in his head? 

“Interview?” There was disappointment written on the gentle lines of Crowley’s face, and it stung like a bee sting. “Just an interview?”

“Yeah,” said Aziraphale under his voice, but he didn’t believe himself. 

Crowley deflated, ever so slightly. 

Aziraphale met those tawny eyes with his own and tried to _think_ at him, _Kiss me. Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me._ For a moment he had the crazy idea that it had actually worked. Crowley softened, angling his face towards Aziraphale… 

And then. 

Aziraphale stopped thinking. And kissed him. 

The last kiss had been exhausted, messy, confused. Wonderful, yes, but disorganized. This one was sweet, passionate. It meant _more_, somehow. Aziraphale tangled his fingers in Crowley’s hair, in the red waves and curls and strands. It was so soft, like velvet and feathery down and wool. 

He felt Crowley’s hands on his lower back, fingers curled, somewhat hesitant. His mouth was pressed closed, as if he was afraid of something. 

Aziraphale gave him a few inches of space. “This is okay?” he whispered.

“This is okay,” breathed Crowley, his face wonderfully pink. 

Aziraphale kissed him again, his lips parting ever so slightly. Crowley spread his hand wide against Aziraphale’s back, pulling him into a more intense kiss. Aziraphale gasped against his mouth. 

“Don’t run away again please.” Crowley whispered, who knew how much later. 

“I would never do that to you again, dearest.” Aziraphale murmured back “Please don’t stop yet.”

“We do have that interview to finish…”

Aziraphale shook his head and pressed his lips lightly to Crowley’s jaw. “In a few minutes…” 

Crowley’s shoulders shook in a silent laugh. “You were the one that was so intent on this newspaper thing.”

“Please?” Aziraphale whispered. This time, he could hear Crowley’s laughter in his ear. “I’m going to kiss you again.”

“Go ahead.”

Aziraphale roved his lips over the curve Crowley’s cheek, tracking his way to Crowley’s mouth and kissing him as hard as he could.


	12. Crowley

“Aziraphale, I’m home!” Crowley heard from downstairs a fair while later. No, he didn’t want it to end now. He wanted to stay wrapped around Aziraphale forever and ever. But nobody lives forever. That was impossible. Not that the fact stopped Crowley from wanting it.

“Crowley, my dad’s here.” Aziraphale whispered sheepishly. Crowley shook his head and held Aziraphale’s waist a bit tighter.

“Come help me with these groceries will you?” There was a sound of paper bags being set on a table and the low thumping of footsteps as he climbed the stairs.

“Crowley...” Aziraphale warned. He kissed him one more time and let go. He stuck out his hand as a compromise. Crowley took it firmly, but gently. He turned and saw Aziraphale’s dad enter the room. 

“There you are I-- ooh.” Mr. Fell leaned against the kitchen door’s frame. He was a bit older, and he was a reasonable size. Crowley wasn’t sure how to react to the man. Was he mad? _Uh oh._ He unclasped from Aziraphale hand and stuffed his own into the pockets of his black jacket. He pulled his sunglasses down. “Who’s this then?” Aziraphale’s dad asked.

“Oh, erm, hello dad.” Aziraphale smiled warmly and walked closer to Mr. Fell. He grabbed Crowley’s arm, unable to reach his pocketed hands and dragged him along. “This is Crowley Ashtoreth. He’s my partner on our science project!” Mr. Fell’s eyebrows raised to his hairline.

“Crowley… Ashtoreth?” he asked. Aziraphale nodded, the smile still on his face.

“He’s also on the soccer team! So I’m interviewing him for the _Angelic Times_. Most of the Demons haven’t been… available… but he agreed!” Crowley blushed a bit and turned away. Mr. Fell’s face became the exact replication of the surprised Pikachu face.

“The _Angelic_\--Demons--Crowley--what? Holy... well, erm get on with the interview, science project… er, thing… or whatever else you’re doing.” Mr. Fell gave a little wink as he exited the room, still mumbling to himself. “_Crowley Ashtoreth, I cannot believe..._” Crowley wrung his hands and turned back to Aziraphale.

“Is he...” Crowley didn’t quite know what he would do if Aziraphale’s dad ended up as homophobic as his own.

“What, oh no! Don’t worry, he was very accepting with me. You have nothing to worry about, dear.” Aziraphale planted another small kiss on his cheek. Crowley blushed harder, if that was possible at this point.

“Then why was he so… stunned?” It had been strange, the way he stuttered about the _Angelic Times_ and Demons. Maybe it was some weird religious thing, but it was just High School. He also seemed put off at his name. Oh no, maybe he had heard something. Had the Demons already shown the picture to people? He ran his fingers through his hair. This was not how he was going to go.

“You know, I really have no idea. I wouldn’t worry about it though. We really should start working on the interview now...”

“Oh, yes, right.” Crowley sat back down on Aziraphale’s bed. The sheets were a pale blue color, and the blanket was a pleasant-looking tartan. Aziraphale looted around his cabinet by the bed for something. When he found whatever it was he was looking for, he let out a small “Aha!” that made Crowley smile. 

The object was a little notebook and pencil. It had a white cover and several pages between its cardboard covers. Aziraphale sat beside him, making the bed sag slightly. He noticed this and moved to the middle of the mattress, his legs criss-crossed. Crowley did the same across from him.

“So, er, name?” Aziraphale asked, his pencil poised neatly. Crowley let out a small chuckle.

“Crowley Ashtoreth.” Aziraphale nodded and wrote it down.

“Age?”

“Sixteen.”

“How long have you been playing soccer?”

“Freshman year. My uh… friends I guess… said I should join them and I did.” Crowley shrugged. 

“Right, and… on a scale of one to ten,” Aziraphale looked up. “How would you rate your kissing ability?” Crowley laughed.

“I dunno. Guess we should test it out, for science.” He crawled over to Aziraphale’s spot and kissed him, pushing them both against the pillows. Aziraphale laughed, the muffled sound like bells in the empty room. 

When they were quite definitely done, Crowley propped his head against his elbow on the pillow. His glasses were off, so he could allow Aziraphale to see straight into his yearning eyes. He smiled, and his fang-like teeth glimmered in the sunlight seeping through the bedroom window.

“What would you rate that?” he asked. Aziraphale tapped his pencil against his chin like he was thinking rather hard.

“I would say… eleven,” he concluded and scribbled something on his pad.

“Eleven…” Crowley contemplated, keeping his smile. “Alright, eleven sounds good.”

“Actually…” Aziraphale scratched out his writing quickly. “I don’t think there’s a number for it, I’m terribly sorry Crowley.” he mock apologised. Or he might have been actually apologising. Crowley couldn’t tell. 

“Mhm…” Aziraphale scratched out something else. “You know, Gabriel will probably want me to have an accurate review.” he threw his pad to the corner of the bed and lay down on his side again. “I’m afraid we’ll have to test it again.” Crowley pretended to sigh in defeat.

“Afraid so.”

Aziraphale crawled onto his lap and kissed him sweetly. _Please, let this never end,_ Crowley begged whatever god might be up there.


	13. Aziraphale

Name: Crowley Ashtoreth   
Age: 16  
Has been playing since: Freshman year  
Fun fact: Dad is the captain of the team. Also is extraordinarily good at kissing.

Crowley peeked over Aziraphale’s computer as he typed. “I think that’s exaggerating, a bit.”

“Not all that much.” Aziraphale deleted it anyway. “Imagine sending that to Gabriel!” he laughed.

“It’s really a soccer move,” Crowley said, as if trying to explain away the sentence to Aziraphale’s editor. “A very complicated soccer move. Would take a real pro to master kissing in soccer.”

Aziraphale laughed and kissed his mouth quickly. 

“Perhaps I could demonstrate for him?” Crowley reciprocated with a quick smooch on Aziraphale’s cheek. 

“I don’t think Gabriel would be very happy with me.”

Crowley frowned in a pretty good impression of the dove-winged senior. “Aziraphale, you’re fucking fired.”

Aziraphale managed to keep a straight face for all of three seconds, then dissolved into gasping laughter. “I’d rather you were my editor,” he said, truthfully. 

“You into that?” Crowley joked, snaking an arm around Aziraphale’s waist. He rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder. 

“I should probably send this in. What time is it…?” Aziraphale traced his fingertip along the top of his computer screen. “Five thirty.”

“Promised my dad I’d be home by forty-five. Shit.” Crowley scrambled off the bed, eyes scanning the floor for his shoes.

“You left them in the other room.” Aziraphale closed his laptop and hopped up, too. “I’m so sorry. I should come with you.”

“No, you don’t have to.” Crowley went through the door and found his shoes and forgotten sunglasses (the former on the ground, the latter resting on a counter). He rushed back into the bedroom and gave Aziraphale one last, long kiss on the mouth.

“Bye, angel. See you Monday yeah?” He headed back out the doorway, his face still meeting Aziraphale’s.

“I’ll wait for you.” Crowley nodded and went to face the exit. Aziraphale did the same to watch him go, but froze in his tracks as he saw the dark figure standing there. _Oh shirtballs._ Aziraphale thought. He didn’t like cursing, even in his thoughts. But this was an absolute forking mess. In the door was none other than Crowley’s father. Aziraphale recognised him from seeing him around the school’s halls and the way he stood reminded him of Crowley. But Lucifer Ashtoreth had a certain edge to his stance Crowley did not. It was rigid, cold. Unlike Crowley’s softer appearance.

“Oh! Dad! Er, hello. What’re you… doing… here?” Crowley stammered.

“I asked you to meet me for soccer practice _forty-five minutes ago_.” Lucifer sneered menacingly. It felt to Aziraphale like the world was closing in on him. Crowley would be in trouble and it was all Aziraphale’s fault. _Again._

“Yeah, sorry the science project took a bit longer than we-- erm. How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough.” Lucifer grabbed Crowley’s arm. Based on the way Crowley folded in on his arm, Aziraphale could tell it was not gentle. He gasped, feeling all too responsible. 

“See you Monday, angel,” said Crowley through a tight smile. “Rest easy.”

Aziraphale didn’t want to rest easy. He didn’t think it was possible to rest easy. He felt absolutely terrible. As soon as he heard the door slam downstairs, he wandered out of his room and down to the bookshop on the first floor.

“Dad, is there a book I can read?” he asked his father, who was absorbed in his own tall stack at the moment.

“Oh, yeah sure.” His dad distractedly waved a single hand. He looked up from his novel and glanced around the table. He picked up a black-covered book with a little person reading on it. It looked inviting, so Aziraphale took it, thanked him, and headed back to his room. 

Aziraphale look a deep breath and shut the door. He curled up on his bed, noting the empty space were Crowley had been, and opened the book to the first sentence.

_It was a nice day. All the days had been nice. There had been rather more than seven of them so far and rain hadn't been invented yet._

Aziraphale closed his eyes. 

\--- 

“Morning, Aziraphale,” said Anathema, brushing a shimmering comb through her long hair. “What’s up?”

Aziraphale looked around. Crowley. Where was Crowley?

“Aziraphale. Are you listening to me.” Of course he was. Anathema’s voice was just coming from behind a wall of water. 

Aziraphale caught a glance of red hair and swiveled on his heels. Crowley…? No. Aziraphale was surprised at how disappointed he was. 

“Dinosaurs are attacking us,” said Anathema dryly.

“Mm-hmm,” said Aziraphale. His fingers drifted to his mouth, remembering that last goodbye kiss. 

“Aziraphale. What’s wrong? You aren’t hearing a thing I’m saying.” Anathema clasped her hand around his shoulder and shook him. “Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale shivered. “Sorry. I’m just… looking. I’m going to go talk to some people, okay?”

“Okay. Whatever. Be in homeroom by 8:30, though,” Anathema warned.

Aziraphale nodded and headed off. Any newspaper staff member would help. Huda, hopefully. But even the seniors would have been okay. Somebody who knew where Crowley was. Crowley, his…

His.

Aziraphale almost ran directly into Michael, who sucked on her teeth and glared at him. “Fell.”

“Oh, hello, Michael. I was just looking for the Demon Crowley? Have you seen him around?” asked Aziraphale. “Not because we’re… friends or anything, you know. Just wanted to… keep tabs on them.”

Michael hummed tunelessly, unconvinced. “I haven’t seen him, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale slumped and walked away. Crowley. Crowley. Crowley.

“Where are you going?” sneered Hastur, arms crossed. 

“I’m looking for _your_ teammate,” said Aziraphale bitterly. “You don’t know where he is?”

“He’s not here. Bugger off.”

\---

Aziraphale had never broken up with anybody, but he thought this upset emptiness must be somewhat similar. He was so worried about Crowley, and _oh,_ he missed him. Missed the quirk of his mouth when he was teasing Aziraphale. Missed the way his lips fit over Aziraphale’s mouth, and Aziraphale’s cheek, and Aziraphale’s neck. 

The thoughts haunted Aziraphale the whole school day, plaguing him so much he missed Gabriel’s snide asides at his own writing.

“Aziraphale, listen to me. I _said_ it’s too formal. Nobody wants to read a novel on the game. Just something quick and easy, got it?” 

Aziraphale murmured an okay and thought again of Crowley kissing him.

When the day was finally over, Aziraphale rushed home as fast as he could. He had to talk to his dad.

Mr. Fell was sitting upstairs at his desk, brow crinkled in concentration, reading a thick old book. A pencil perched in his fingers, drawing lazy graphite circles on the paper next to him. He’d probably gotten distracted again.

“Dad.”

Mr. Fell paid no attention to his son. Aziraphale doubted that he’d heard him at all. Mr. Fell wasn’t hard of hearing, just easily sucked in by an especially well-written novel. 

“Dad,” said Aziraphale, funneling every ounce of desperation into his voice.

It worked. Mr. Fell looked up and pushed his delicate glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Aziraphale. Is something wrong?”

“Crowley’s gone,” said Aziraphale, every reality of what could be happening at this instant rushing at him with dizzying speed. _What if Lucifer is beating him? What if Lucifer is sending him away? What if Lucifer is kicking me out of school? What if…_

“Where did he go?” said Mr. Fell, bringing his pencil up to his mouth and chewing absentmindedly on the eraser. 

“His dad took him. Dad. Please.”

Mr. Fell dropped the pencil with a clatter. “Why? I thought you two…” 

Aziraphale’s face flushed, but he forged on. “Yeah. I thought so too. But his dad is super homophobic and I might have lied to him and told him we were working on a science project - we weren’t -”

“Got that,” said Mr. Fell, who was fumbling beneath his chair, glasses halfway down his nose, looking for his pencil.

“And I’m just worried about him. Really worried.” All the questions Aziraphale hadn’t gotten a chance to ask Crowley were bugging him. _Are we boyfriends, now?_

Mr. Fell paused. “Ok. Where do they live?”

“I… I don’t know. But I can text Anathema.”

“Okay. You do that. I’m going to - darn.” Mr. Fell’s glasses fell onto the floor. “I’m going to get myself situated.”

**angelreporter:** Do you have the Vice Principal’s address??

**lasttruewitch:** why?? kind of a weird question

**angelreporter:** please? Do you have it?   
**angelreporter:** He’s the soccer coach too so I figured you might have it

**lasttruewitch:** why do u need it tho?

**angelreporter:** I’m worried about Crowley

**lasttruewitch:** oh are u now. knew there was something…  
**lasttruewitch:** what’s wrong w/ him?

**angelreporter:** Nothing!  
**angelreporter:** I just. Need. His address. Please.

**lasttruewitch:** i dont know if i have the right to give out this kind of info

**angelreporter:** Please, Anathema, this is frightfully important.

**lasttruewitch:** okay fine dont worry az, i’ll send it to you. 

Aziraphale exhaled, relieved. “Thank God. I got it. Dad, I got it.”

Mr. Fell emerged from under the chair, brushing dust bunnies off his front and also nose. “Let’s head over.”

\---

Crowley’s house was a gabled, tall thing, something that Aziraphale was surprised to run into in Terreville. It was yellow and red, with clean siding and a path of large flat stones pressed into the lawn. 

“Crowley. Crowley!”

“Go ring the bell,” Mr. Fell encouraged. “Go. Go!”

Aziraphale rushed up to the door. Instead of a normal doorbell, a big, old fashioned iron knocker hung on the tall, wooden door. Aziraphale gulped. If his dad hadn’t gotten so distracted by the grammar mistakes on the road sign, they would have arrived a quarter of an hour ago. And it wasn’t just a distraction. Mr. Fell looked through the drug store on the street for a red marker for ages. And he didn’t even find it. 

_Please answer, please answer, please answer._ Aziraphale begged God Herself. 

The door cracked open. A single amber eye peeked through the space between the door and the wall. “Aziraphale…?”

“Crowley. Crowley.” Aziraphale sighed. “Are you okay? My darling…”

“’M not your darling.” Crowley started to shut the door again. Aziraphale placed his foot down in between the cracks to hold it open.

“Crowley! Wait. What’s wrong? Are you okay?” he repeated, scanning Crowley for any possible injury. _’M not your darling._

“I’m sorry, angel. This… I can’t…”

A wave of dread hit Aziraphale’s core. “We can’t be together anymore.”

“I’m sorry.” 

Crowley shut the door, leaving Aziraphale in the night’s sharp, cold air.


	14. Crowley

The bookshop door slammed hard behind them. The sound rattled in Crowley’s ears, noting him of the impending doom to come. His father’s tight grip on his arm would surely leave a bruise later, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was probably never going to see Aziraphale again, but he tried not to think of that. He tried to keep a grip on the one strand of hope he had. That maybe his dad hadn’t seen so much, that maybe they could still work out. Lucifer opened the car’s back door and practically pushed Crowley inside. He got up and fastened his seatbelt. 

The car was hot and messy. Crowley knew that when he saved up enough to buy his own, it would be clean and sleek. Maybe black, a vintage model. And he would make sure the stereo would only play Queen, instead of the dark metal his dad insisted upon.

“Crowley what the _fuck_ was that? I asked you to meet me at soccer at _four forty-five_ why weren’t you there?” Lucifer yelled from the front seat. He turned the keys and changed gears violently.

“We lost track of time...” Crowley put his hands between his long legs and looked down. This would all be so much more bearable if Aziraphale could hold his hand now.

“Oh really, did you now? And were you _really_ working on a science project?”

“No...” Crowley mumbled. He couldn’t lie. That would make this all so much worse. 

“What were you doing instead then?” Crowley put his hands together, but locking his cold, thin fingers was nothing like Aziraphale warm, soft touch.

“Interview for the _Angelic Times_.” _Isn’t a lie, isn’t a lie,_ he told himself.

“That wasn’t what I saw.” The car made a sharp left, barely missing a pedestrian. “Crowley I don’t even -- I can’t -- why would you ever want to _kiss_ another guy, that is disgusting. You are a disappointment.”

“Dad, it’s not illegal anymore, it’s fine! Lots of people today aren’t… you know.” Crowley shrugged, ashamed. He was a disappointment. That wasn’t even the worst thing. He knew things could only get worse from here.

“I will _not_ have my son be a--”

“Dad stop it!” Crowley yelled. “Just stop, I don’t care!” His eyes were welling up now. He reached for his sunglasses and put them on. They had always served as his security blanket, hiding his true emotions -- and freak eyes -- from the world. Now was the time he really needed them, too.

“You will care.” Lucifer snarled as he pulled the car into the driveway. Crowley opened the car’s door and slowly got out, dread churning in his stomach. The sky was getting darker, much faster than it had been in the summer. The lawn was darkened, shadows creating shapes Crowley willed himself to believe were trees. 

Lucifer angrily turned the lock on the door and opened it. The house, as usual, was musky and dark. It felt crowded with old furniture and boxes. It was not in the way Aziraphale’s bookshop felt crowded, though. The items there gave off a secure sense of a real home. It felt warm and cozy. Here it was just messy and cold. So, so, cold. 

Crowley shivered and went to pull his jacket tighter, but his fingers found empty air yet again. His jacket wasn’t there. Argh -- curse it, he must have left it behind. He never went anywhere without this jacket. How could he have forgotten it? It had been his only birthday present from his father, and it was, and always had been, his favorite . Now it was gone and he’d probably never get it back.

Lucifer locked the door behind them and grabbed Crowley’s shoulder, pushing him against the wall.

“I don’t _ever_ want to see you around that-- kid again.” His face was slightly damp and hot. Crowley could see the saliva forming in his mouth. Lucifer’s breath smelled of old socks and energy drinks. His eyes blazed with anger. Crowley didn’t often get scared, but now… he was terrified.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley said, trying to put on a brave face.

“What?”

“His _name_ is Aziraphale, Dad.”

“That is the stupidest name I have ever heard. No one can even pronounce it.”

“I can. And I love him, Dad, I don’t _care_ what you think.” Crowley gulped as any trace of mercy faded from Lucifer’s eyes. He knew what was coming. His muscles tensed and he closed his body in on himself. He saw his father’s anger before he felt the punch. His right arm screamed but he didn’t have enough time to process it before the next one came, and the next one. 

After what could have been hours but was probably only a few minutes, Crowley was on the ground curled up in a small ball. He felt weak, powerless, unprepared. He heard his father’s loud footsteps retreat and leave him there alone. How could he have been so stupid? Crowley was such an idiot to think that this relationship could ever work out. Aziraphale had even warned him, that first night at the park. _This. Can never. Work,_ he had said. Crowley should have listened. But he was so desperate for Aziraphale’s soft touches, small smiles, his whole existence. But it was something he could never have.

This was all wrong, he knew from the beginning it was. A guy could _never_ love another guy and he should just go back to dating Eden. Right.

Oh good lord he was lying to himself he needed to call Bennie. Crowley propped himself up on one arm and stood up shakily. His dad had gone downstairs, to he headed the opposite direction, up to his room. His phone where was his phone… Crowley pulled the small rectangle from his jean pocket. I miracle it hadn’t broken, really. He sat on his bed and draped the black comforter over his shoulders. He didn’t want to check, but he knew he had bruises. His arm ached for any kind of relief, but he pushed any thought of the pain into the dark corners of his mind, along with all his visions of Aziraphale.

He turned on his phone and went to text Aziraphale he was okay, even though he wasn’t, really. He scrolled through his contacts. Hastur, Ligur, Beelzebub, Dagon, his dad too, Bennie… what? He re-read all the names again. Aziraphale wasn’t there. He wasn’t… why wasn’t his contact on his phone anymore? He had saved it! _Ugh, took the time to memorize his address but not his number? You stupid, stupid idiot, Crowley._ Instead, he texted Bennie.

**snazzysnek:** hey ben whats up

**bentleyboi:** nothing much! You?

**snazzysnek:** nothing important hey can i talk w/ u

**bentleyboi:** sure! im always here if u need me crowley dont worry

**snazzysnek:** okay awesome so heres the thing  
**snazzysnek:** i  
**snazzysnek:** am not  
**snazzysnek:** entirely  
**snazzysnek:** well actually not at all  
**snazzysnek:** straight  
**snazzysnek:** exactly

**bentleyboi:** ha! yes i knew it

**snazzysnek:** what how did you know

**bentleyboi:** rumorsssss

**snazzysnek:** right right well anyway i think my dad is ready to kill me and i need you to pass on my will and testimate

**bentleyboi:** who is it?

**snazzysnek:** what?

**bentleyboi:** who did you lose your straight-ness to? ;)

**snazzysnek:** did you not just read my last text

**bentleyboi:** who

**snazzysnek:** no

**bentleyboi:** tell me

**snazzysnek:** no

**bentleyboi:** Crowley Ashtoreth tell me who you’re gay for right now

**snazzysnek:** Aziraphale Fell.

**bentleyboi:** HA!! Yes i knew it

**snazzysnek:** sure  
**snazzysnek:** anyway any advice

**bentleyboi:** no sorry

**snazzysnek:** what come on

**bentleyboi:** sorry! i dont have much experience with this tbh 

**snazzysnek:** bennieeeee  
**snazzysnek:** please  
**snazzysnek:** help  
**snazzysnek:** i actually think i might die here

**bentleyboi:** fine ill help you

**snazzysnek:** thank u

**bentleyboi:** np  
**bentleyboi:** hey if it works out between u 2 can i plan the wedding? 

**snazzysnek:** Ben!!!

**bentleyboi:** sorry sorry  
**bentleyboi:** but not really  
**bentleyboi:** alright so what do you need

**snazzysnek:** i dunno just… help

**bentleyboi:** with what

**snazzysnek:** idk just… life idk! i need my dad to not kill me and maybe possibly get az to be my boyfriend under the radar?  
**snazzysnek:** possibly?  
**snazzysnek:** not a requirement i just need to make sure my dad doesnt turn all… you know...

**bentleyboi:** satan mode? yeah, dont worry i got you covered crowman  
**snazzysnek:** okay okay good  
**snazzysnek:** actually i may be serious about that boyfriend thing could you maybe…  
**snazzysnek:** pull some strings?

**bentleyboi:** >:)  
**bentleyboi:** will do crowman

**snazzysnek:** oh and er the eden thing  
**snazzysnek:** please stop her  
**snazzysnek:** she can be quite frightening some times

**bentleyboi:** yeah yeah i’ll take care of that too  
**bentleyboi** want me to part the sea while im at it??

**snazzysnek:** that would be really cool  
**snazzysnek:** just the dad thing tho  
**snazzysnek:** minimum  
**snazzysnek:** please  
**snazzysnek:** i'm really struggling here my arm hurts…  
**snazzysnek:** *wheeze*

**bentleyboi:** omg crow are you ok?? what happened

**snazzysnek:** ahahahahaha  
**snazzysnek:** yeah im fine nvm goodnight its late

**bentleyboi:** good night, lover boy

**snazzysnek:** eheh gnight ben ;)

Crowley sighed and sunk deeper into his pillows. It was going to be alright, he was sure. Besides, there was always Monday. Seven whole hours away from home, that would be fine. Of course, his dad would be at school doing whatever a vice principal did but it would certainly be better than any one-on-one. Crowley shut his eyes and dreamt of sordid, sweet things he would prefer to keep classified.

\---

“You’re not going to school today, Crowley.” Lucifer snarled in Crowley’s ear. It was morning, he didn’t know how early but the sun was decidedly up.

“What?” Crowley mumbled and rubbed his eyes awake. His father was looming above him holding the phone in his hand. _Oh shit._ “The hell, Dad, you read my texts?”

“I did and you aren’t going.” Lucifer slammed the phone hard on the desk and Crowley winced. That was sure to leave a crack. He sat up, leaning against one arm. The arm that wasn’t throbbing quite painfully at the moment, that is.

“You can’t just _keep me_ from school. It’s required by law!”

“What do you know about law, Crowley?”

“Nothing, but I need to go to school! I promised Az-- I have to go.”

“No, you’re staying here.” Lucifer turned on his heel and left the room. Downstairs, he heard the loud creak of the front door and the locking of a key. 

Well, shit. His dad had locked him inside. This was… great. On the plus side, he didn’t have to go to school so that was nice. But on the other hand… he had promised Aziraphale “Monday.” This was not an ideal situation…

And what the hell was there to do? Crowley glanced around the room, sleep still blurring his vision. _Whatever I want._ A small smile creeped up his face. A slightly evil smile, but a smile nonetheless.

\--- 

Crowley dug through a bin of books in the basement. It had to be here somewhere… aha! There it was. He held a fairly large blue and red book in his hands. On the cover it said “**Terreville High 2018-2019**” Perfect, this should have a picture. Crowley leafed through the pages, looking at the sophomore section. George Fair, Carol Farrell, Jason Fernandez, Gabriella Foreward…. Why wasn’t there a Fell? 

Oh. Oh wow Crowley was an idiot. He just -- he just moved here, good lord. Crowley threw the yearbook across the room and sighed. Facebook, there might be something… on Facebook. Crowley grabbed his phone and turned it on, opening the app. Again, it hadn’t been cracked. Either miracles _were_ real or Crowley just had a _very_ indestructible phone. 

He clicked the search bar and typed “Terreville High.” Scrolling through he saw several pictures of the school’s extracurricular clubs. Student council, debate team, basketball, cheer, soccer. Oh, hey there was Crowley. How nice. He stood stiffly, with his arms behind his back. Lucifer had one large paw on his shoulder. It was, as Crowley knew, weighing him down, like he always seemed to be. Crowley shook his head and continued scrolling until he reached newspaper. _Finally,_ he thought. Sure enough, there he was. 

The picture couldn’t have been taken long ago. Who Crowley could only assume was Gabriel, Uriel, and the rest of them were standing front and center, very much in charge. Aziraphale was seated on the corner. His round face seemed a bit confused and surprised at the time the picture was taken. 

Crowley smiled a bit. Aziraphale looked so cute like that. He took a screenshot so he had the image on his phone and set the device down. What else was there to do? He glanced over at Anthony in his terrarium. When was the last time he fed him? Should probably do that now…

Crowley crept back downstairs to receive a mouse from the freezer. He looked around at the fridge’s contents and sighed. Not much left. An apple here and there, and several of his father’s beer cans. Crowley shook his head and took an apple and the bag of mice to his room. 

He gently placed the rodent in Anthony’s terrarium and sat on his bed, chewing on the apple. So many hours, nothing to do… Crowley usually looked down upon school. Sure, it has its perks. A getaway from home, people his own age, cute boys, erm. Other things. But now he would give just about anything to go back.  
\---

Crowley’s heart nearly stopped when he heard the doorbell ring. People shouldn’t be coming over. His dad was still at work. _Murderer,_ Crowley thought. This was it, this was the end. He scrambled to his bedroom door and locked it. The doorbell rang again. _Wait a second, murderers don’t ring the bell. Do they?_ Crowley peeked out the door to peer downstairs. He almost came down, until he had another thought. 

What if the person at the door was one of those people who tried to convert you to their religion? Oof, that would be awkward. Then again…, he could mess with them. Crowley smiled wickedly, put on a brave face, and sashayed down the steps. 

At the door stood a woman dressed in all green and a fairly large, black hat with a peacock feather. Crowley visibly relaxed. It was his Aunt Gaia. She held her bag in front of her and gave Crowley a pleasant smile. 

“Hello Crowley, dear, is your father home?” She asked. 

“Oh, er, no, he’s at work right now.” Crowley’s eyes darted around the doorway. “Would you like to come in?”

“Oh! Yes, if you would be so kind.” Crowley nodded and stepped aside. Aunt Gaia daintily walked inside, glancing at the interior. 

“Mhm, well we’ll have to clean the place up a bit, but it’s nice enough.” Aunt Gaia commented. 

“Er, I’m sorry, but what exactly are you doing here?” Crowley asked. He shut the door, making the room just that much darker. 

“Oh, yes, right.” Aunt Gaia turned to face Crowley. She tried to hide a little smile as she swayed excitedly. After a moment of dramatic pause, she did a single-handed jazz hand and announced, “I’m moving in!” Crowley’s eyes widened. 

“I’m sorry, what?”

Aunt Gaia nodded happily. “Yes! You see, my apartment just got _so_ much more expensive and I needed some time to save up for a new one! I’m sure your father said something…”

“Well, obviously he didn’t.” Crowley said bitterly. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be at school?” Aunt Gaia set her things down by a large stack of boxes. 

“Yeah er… bit complicated.” Crowley winced. “Kinda in trouble.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay, how about you show me your room then? It’s been so long.” Aunt Gaia tilted her head and smiled. Crowley nodded and gestured up the stairs. 

“This way,” he said. The stairs were old and creaked loudly when you stepped on them. But Crowley knew certain spots that allowed sneaking downstairs easier. When they reached the door, Crowley opened it and revealed his quite messy room. The walls were a dark red and most everything else was the same or black. The aesthetic was nice, when you got used to it. 

“Oh, it’s lovely!” Aunt Gaia said. Crowley sat back down on his bed and sighed to release the anxiety from before. “So.” Aunt Gaia sat beside him and put her hands in her lap. “Considering you don’t have school and I’m here, what do you want to do?”

Crowley shook his head and laid against his pillow. He took his phone from the bedside table and turned it on, flipping back to the screenshot of Aziraphale. “Nothing.” He mumbled. “Just leave me alone. Please.” Best to be polite with Aunt Gaia. 

“Oh, well, okay.” She attempted a small smile but her disappointment was clear. “What are you up to on your phone, then?” Crowley glanced up and pulled the device closer to his chest, concealing the screen.

“Doesn’t matter. Nothing of interest.” He waved her off. “You should… start unpacking. Or something.” 

“Oh come on give me that.” Aunt Gaia snatched Crowley’s phone out of his hand with a smile and looked at the screen mischievously. 

“Hey!” Crowley panicked. “Give that back please!” He tried to grab it back but Aunt Gaia moves it out of his reach, still peering at the screen. 

“Ooh I see. Who this then?” Crowley blushed furiously. He tried to rub the red away but Aunt Gaia had already seen. 

“Nobody, just _please<\i> give it back!” Crowley unsuccessfully attempted another grab. _

_“This your boyfriend then?” She asked, pointing at Aziraphale’s adorably shocked expression in the photo. _I wish,<\i> Crowley thought. He shook his head before any more thought could come through. __

_ _“No! Just please…” _ _

_ _“Oh, alright.” Aunt Gaia returned his phone. Crowley closed out with a sigh. _ _

_ _“Guess you know why I’m in trouble then…” he grumbled. Aunt Gaia’s kind face took on a surprised look. _ _

_ _“What? That’s why… because you have a picture of someone on your phone, well that’s just bullshit, isn’t it!” Crowley laughed a little bit, still looking down at his black comforter. _ _

_ _“Yeah, guess it is. That’s not exactly why though…” Crowley started to tell her everything. It had all just slipped out. Luckily, she never seemed absolutely scandalized or anything. She took it all rather well. Better than his father did, anyway. _ _

_ _Crowley stopped talking when he got to the part about the beating. That wouldn’t end well for him or his dad. So he wrapped it up shyly. _ _

_ _“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” Aunt Gaia wrapped Crowley in a tight and secure hug. He didn’t get many of those. “I’m going to have firm talking to with my brother when he gets home,” she concluded. _ _

_ _“What, no, you can’t.” Crowley shook his head and pulled away. “That will do so much more harm than good, just please don’t say anything about it,” he pleaded._ _

_ _“Well, alright then. I’ll let you get on with your business then.” Aunt Gaia strutted out of the room leaving Crowley to do what he pleased. That was good, he figured. Right? Yes, that was definitely best. Crowley didn’t want his Aunt involved in any situations she didn’t need to be involved in. Then again, it might have been nice to have someone to talk to..._ _

_ _No, no Crowley would be fine. He nodded to himself, and grabbed back his phone where Aunt Gaia had left it. There was a text notification on the front page. _ _

_ _**bentleyboi:** oi crow why arent u at school?? your boyfriends really worried about u. hes been asking everyone. _ _

_ _Aziraphale had been asking everyone? About him? Crowley’s heart gave a little flutter of excitement. It was quickly broken when he remembered his father’s punishment and words..._ _

_ _**snazzysnek:** hes not my boyfriend_ _

_ _**bentleyboi:** right right sure ;) but really tho WHERE R U?!?_ _

_ _**snazzysnek:** dad kept me home so yeah not much I can do_ _

_ _**bentleyboi:** is that legal?_ _

_ _**snazzysnek:** idk_ _

_ _**bentleyboi:** well. az’s behavior is quite concerning so please return at your earliest convenience thank you next. _ _

_ _**snazzysnek:** will do_ _

_ _**bentleyboi:** gr8_ _

_ _\---_ _

_ _Crowley’s stomach did a little cartwheel when he heard the doorknob turn. He and Aunt Gaia were sitting on the couch. She was properly poised and prepared to face her little brother. Crowley, on the other had was gripping a pillow quite tightly and gave the impression of a rather frightened tortoise, attempting to close in on himself and hide. _ _

_ _“What’s this all about then?” Lucifer growled, shutting the door. Crowley gave an awkward wave as Aunt Gaia stood curtly. _ _

_ _“Crowley has something he needs to talk about.” She said. _ _

_ _“Actually I really don’t think I need—“ Crowley’s words were interrupted by an urgent sound of iron knocking on wood. “Nobody move.” He said. “I’ll get it.” He got up and practically ran to the door. _ _

_ _ _Please, please, please be—___ _ _

_ _ _ _“Aziraphale?” Crowley allowed only his left side to be shown. The less, the better. But all that really mattered was that he was _here_. Right now. That’s all Crowley could ask for right now. Suddenly, he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. Crowley gulped. ___ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“Crowley. Crowley. Are you okay? My darling…”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _The hand tightened and Crowley winced, trying not to let the pain show through his face. He knew what he had to say. It would all be better this way, anyway. Crowley took a deep breath and mumbled the words. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“’M not your darling.” Crowley started to shut the door again. He should get this over with. But Aziraphale kept his foot between the door and the frame and wouldn’t allow the door to shut. Crowley was a little surprised at the smallest hint of relief he felt. Just one more moment with Aziraphale..._ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“Crowley! Wait. What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Aziraphale said. His concern melted Crowley’s heart but he couldn’t allow this anymore. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“I’m sorry, angel. This… I can’t…”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Lucifer tightened his grip again, digging deeper into Crowley’s bruises. He let out a small sound but hid it best he could. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“We can’t be together anymore.” Aziraphale said. The softness and hurt in his voice almost sent Crowley over the edge. He blinked away any beginning of tears. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“I’m sorry.” _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _Crowley shut the door and looked up at his father who nodded sharply and turned away. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“I think I’ll go to bed, actually.” Crowley said to anyone who might listen. Lucifer grunted. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“You’re going back to school in the morning.” He said. Crowley pauses halfway up the stairs. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“Really?”_ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“Yes.” Lucifer took a tight hold on the couch’s side. Crowley could see the veins through his arms show. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _“Thank you.” Crowley whispered. He ran up the steps and into his room, collapsing on his bed with a wide smile. _ _ _ _ _ _

_ _ _ _ _ _He hoped Aziraphale would understand._ _ _ _ _ _


	15. 16. Aziraphale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! First of all, thank you so much for reading Terreville - it means so much to both of us. Don't worry, it's not ending before the story ends, Lily just took control of the account and wanted to say a quick thank-you.
> 
> Also, those of you who are actually following this (there are what, three of you?) may have noticed that we're a bit late in posting this new chapter. AD4004 has been out of town for a few days and hasn't been able to access WiFi, so we had to put our writing on hold.
> 
> In the future, as chapters are getting longer and more serious, it may take more than a day to post. 
> 
> Speaking of more serious, we'd like to apologize for the darker turn this story is taking; we thought that Crowley and his dad's story was an important one that we wanted to handle with the levity it deserves. There will definitely be soft parts and kissing, but Crowley's family will get a more sober view. 
> 
> Also, some of this reads like a spy movie; that was a complete accident on Lily's part and she didn't delete it because reasons.
> 
> (The reasons were that I, AngelicDemon, did not let her delete it.)

Aziraphale couldn’t sleep. His dreams were awful and plentiful, waking him up every few hours. 

In one, Crowley sneered at him and told him that there had never been anything between them. Then he changed into a snake and bit Aziraphale’s fingers off. 

In another, Crowley had completely disappeared from the face of Terreville. When Aziraphale asked Anathema where he’d gone, Anathema asked him who Crowley was, and then sent him to the school counselor, who sent him away to a horrible old-fashioned asylum.

In his most terrifying dream, Crowley kissed him and kissed him and whispered, I love _you_, and then his father took him away and changed him into a helpless, squirming worm before Aziraphale’s eyes. “It’s what he deserves,” said Lucifer, an ugly smile twisting his lips. “Now do what’s right, _angel_.” Aziraphale couldn’t stop himself as he brought his foot up above Crowley’s twisting form. The moment before he killed his gorgeous, yellow-eyed Demon, Lucifer laughed cruelly. “What a good boy you are. What a good boy.”

Aziraphale watched the sun rise from his bedroom window, the pale rays filtering through the glass and washing over his walls. He wondered if somewhere, Crowley was watching the sun rise, too. 

“Hi,” he said to the sun, just in case. Aziraphale felt utterly ridiculous talking to some flaming star miles and miles away in empty space, but it made him feel comforted, somehow. “If Crowley’s out there… keep him safe. Please.”

“Okay,” said the sun. Aziraphale blinked. Maybe he should be sent to an asylum, after all. Hearing the sun talk was a certain sign of madness. “Do you want to pick him up from school today?” Oh. Not the sun. Just his dad talking on the phone in the hallway.

“Who’s picking me up?” Aziraphale shouted.

“Your mom!” Mr. Fell shouted back. 

Aziraphale nodded and got dressed, Lucifer’s laugh echoing over and over in his skull.

\---

Aziraphale sat alone in homeroom, Newton noticeably absent, wanting badly to see Crowley’s tawny eyes. Why had Crowley broken up with him? Had there been anything to break up, anyway? Aziraphale found that he hoped for that, painfully. That there was something there. That there _would be_ something there, something filled with lazy kisses in the warm sunshine, and dances at prom, and holding hands in school, and giggly awkard dates. 

“_Aziraphale,_” said Anathema from next to him. “Earth to Aziraphale. Hello.”

“Sorry!” Aziraphale was snapped out of his daydreams and placed firmly into reality. Anathema was frowning at him, arms crossed, but her eyes seemed _hopeful._

“Your boyfriend is by his locker. Go say hi to him before school starts.” Anathema grabbed Aziraphale’s arm and tugged him out of his chair. Aziraphale yelped in protest, but quieted as soon as Anathema’s words registered. 

“Crowley? Crowley’s not my boyfriend.”

Anathema grinned and pushed him out the door. “Well, go fix that!”

Aziraphale stumbled into the hallway as Anathema shut the door behind him. He walked to Crowley’s locker - no, he _floated_, heart thudding in his ears with every dreamlike step. Fear churned in his stomach (what if Crowley hated him? What if Crowley was injured?) and mixed with giddy excitement (what if Crowley _loved_ him? What if Crowley apologized and kissed him, right there by his locker?)

The familiar lanky figure, topped by a fluff of rusty hair, was standing in front of his long blue locker. Just where Anathema said he’d be. Aziraphale shoved his hands in his pockets, suddenly bashful. 

“Crowley?”

Crowley spun on his heels, looking more defensive than Aziraphale had ever seen him. Aziraphale didn’t miss the way he angled one of his arms away, as if hiding or protecting an injury. The thought of an injured Crowley made Aziraphale want to punch his injurer in the nose.

“Oh. A-Aziraphale.” Crowley grinned lopsidedly, but it had none of the lazy glee of a few days ago, when they’d chatted and flirted between kisses. His grin looked frightened. It looked nervous. It looked upset.

“Are you okay? What - what happened? Are we really…?” Aziraphale took a step towards him and Crowley squirmed closer to his locker. The hall was somehow empty. Had school started, and Aziraphale was just too wrapped up in their awkward conversation to notice? 

“Shut up,” said Crowley through gritted teeth. “Go away.”

“Crowley, please,” said Aziraphale.

Crowley’s shoulders inched towards his ears, biting his lip nervously. “You _heard_ me. I’m going to - I’m going to go.”

Aziraphale reached out and grabbed Crowley’s arm. Crowley made a tiny squeaking noise, wriggling away. “Angel!” he exclaimed.

“Is your arm hurt? Are you okay, darling?” The _darling_ had slipped out before Aziraphale could even think. He remembered Crowley’s stinging comment. _’M not your darling._

“I’m not hurt. Shut up! Stop talking to me. Please.” Crowley looked both ways down the hallway.

“Are you sure?” Aziraphale grabbed for Crowley’s arm again and ended up accidentally hitting him as he tried to wriggle away. Crowley winced. “You are hurt. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I’m not hurt.”

“You are. Did your father -” Aziraphale reached for Crowley’s hand instead. 

“I’m fine,” said Crowley, letting Aziraphale take it. A surprising but pleasant development. “Soccer. I hurt it during soccer. See, angel, nothing to worry about…”

“What’s happening?” said Aziraphale softly.

Crowley didn’t look like he was going to answer for a long while. He tapped his foot, took off his sunglasses and polished them with his shirt, opened and closed his locker. Then he gestured Aziraphale closer.

Aziraphale didn’t remember walking to Crowley, but all of a sudden, the distance between them went from about a foot to a few inches. Aziraphale’s breath caught. _Please, please, please…_

Crowley slipped a hand behind Aziraphale’s neck, brushing his jaw slightly. His mouth was ever so close to Aziraphale’s face, and Aziraphale parted his own lips, silently begging Crowley to kiss him.

“Goodbye, angel,” whispered Crowley tenderly. And then he let go.

Aziraphale watched him walk away, his heart numb, unable to comprehend anything but that almost-kiss. Then he thought about everything, very fast. Crowley’s injury. His dodginess about his dad. The way he refused to address their heartbreaking exchange at Crowley’s house. His quiet “angel,” as if it was an admission of… of _something._

The bell rang.

\---

That afternoon, Aziraphale’s mom drove him to her house, which was located right outside of Terreville proper. “How was school today, honey?”

“Fine,” Aziraphale muttered, mind still racing from his and Crowley’s tense conversation that morning. 

“What’s wrong?” His mom swerved around a tall white truck. Aziraphale’s relationship with his mom was so different than with his dad. He loved them both, unequivocally and equally, but he thought of his dad as _Mr. Fell_ and his mom as simply _Mom._

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

Mom tapped a finger against her steering wheel. “You think I can’t tell, sweetie? Your dad told me about your boy.”

“Crowley’s not mine. He made that pretty clear.” _But did he?_ Aziraphale remembered the kiss that wasn’t a kiss. 

“Metra told me that your boy’s dad isn’t as accepting as he could be,” said Mom. If anybody who didn’t know her personally heard her, they would call her voice monotone. But Aziraphale knew better - this was Mom’s chilliest, and he loved her for it. 

“Yeah.” Aziraphale pictured Crowley’s arm, the way he blocked it against the locker. “I really like him, Mom. But I don’t know if he likes me, or if - if he’s even okay - or if, maybe…”

Mom was silent for a while. “Do you love him?”

“That’s a big word.”

“I know.” Mom ran a hand through her greying hair. “You don’t need to answer now. Did something happen with him today, sweetie?”

“No. Yeah.” Do you love him? Aziraphale didn’t know. “He missed school yesterday. I was so worried - so worried that - you know. But he was in today! And I went to say hi to him, and he was acting… really weird.”

“Like what?”

“Like his arm was injured. And I asked him, and he was being weird about it. And he…”

Mom looked over to him, eyebrows raised. “He kissed you?”

Aziraphale’s face went hot. “No! He didn’t kiss me. He’s never - he hasn’t - he didn’t kiss me! He kind of, acted like he was going to. But he didn’t.”

“Do you think his dad hurt him?”

“I think so,” he said quietly. “I really, really hope not.” 

A troubled silence descended on the small car. The only sounds were Aziraphale and his mom’s synchronized breathing and the old engine rumbling softly. 

“Where does he live?” Mom asked.

“I can’t go there, Mom, that’s weird. Dad took me this weekend.” Aziraphale thought privately how similar she was to Mr. Fell. He wasn’t at all similar to Crowley. But maybe that was why his parents’ marriage hadn’t worked out. 

“Are you worried about him?”

“Yeah,” Aziraphale admitted.

“What’s his address? I have a bone to pick with his dad. I might call the police on him, honestly…” Aziraphale’s mom veered over to a parking lot and handed Aziraphale her phone. “Put it into Maps.”

Aziraphale opened his messages with Anathema and numbly copied the address into his mom’s phone. “Here.”

“Starting route…” said the GPS robotically.

\---

They pulled up and Aziraphale rushed to the doorway, sick to his stomach with the worry that had been building up the entire car ride. He knocked on the door. 

“Hello?” said a decidedly feminine voice. “Crowley, are you home?”

“No.” Had Crowley brought a girl over? Was _this_ why he’d broken things off between them?

“What?”

“I’m not Crowley,” Aziraphale clarified. 

The door opened, revealing a ginger-haired woman with a bright red smile. Her hair was coiled at her neck, strands escaping and floating around her head like a wildly confused halo. She was wearing a fluffy white bathrobe over a light green, calf-length dress and tall black socks. The woman pushed her leopard-print glasses farther up her freckled nose and squinted at Aziraphale.

“Hey. You’re my nephew’s boyfriend. Nice to meet you, I’m his aunt Gaia.” The woman held out a hand with matte black nail polish dark on her fingernails. 

“His _boyfriend_?” Aziraphale stammered. “Well, uh… did he say that to you?”

“It was pretty obvious,” Gaia said, shrugging. “The way he talked about you… oh shoot, you don’t know? Sorry! Sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.” Gaia winked.

Aziraphale flushed, thinking about Crowley’s caramel-soft words and indulgent kisses before he remembered the situation Crowley could be in. “Is he okay?” 

“I don’t know,” Gaia admitted. 

“His dad… I mean, I don’t know…” 

“That’s why I’m here,” said Gaia. “Wait. Don’t tell anybody that. It’s not really common knowledge. But Crowley seems to be rather fond of you, and it would be good to have somebody on my side…” Gaia tugged on a strand of hair, teasing it out of the bun and twisting it into a knot.

Aziraphale looked at the floor.

“Come in,” Gaia welcomed. “Seltzer?” 

“No, thank you. I’m not feeling well,” said Aziraphale as he stepped inside Crowley’s darkened house. 

“Haven’t figured out the lightswitches, sorry.” Gaia stepped through a doorway and returned holding a plastic lantern. “This way,” she said, and went through a different door. Aziraphale followed the bobbing light to a dining room, adorned with a large wooden table and small chairs pushed up against it.

Gaia set the lantern on the table in the half-dark room and sat down. “Make yourself at home,” she offered. “Although it’s not technically my home.” 

“Thanks,” said Aziraphale, feeling slightly creeped out but also very intrigued. Someday, his father always told him, his curiosity would get the best of him. 

Gaia leaned forward, the lantern light casting flickering shadows across the shallows and curves of her face, giving her a sinister and monstrous look. “_Crowley’s mom isn’t dead,_” she whispered.

Aziraphale blinked. “But… that’s not…”

Gaia leaned back, giving Aziraphale room to breathe, and crossed her arms. “My brother has always been our father’s favorite.” Aziraphale could tell that a long and epic story was quickly incoming, and he settled back to listen.

“He is three years older than me, the prized only son of our family. We have a younger sister, too - her name is Persephone, and she lives in Norway for work during the winter. Our mother died shortly after Perry was born, from a horrible and slow-moving cancer. After her death, our father was never the same.

“He became cold and capricious - you know what capricious means?” Gaia switched suddenly from her enchanting story-telling tone to a more modern and normal voice. 

Aziraphale nodded. Capricious was a beautiful word, sounding like it should have the clipped wings of a falcon in flight, one of his favorites. “‘Given to sudden and unaccountable changes of mood or behavior,’” he recited. 

Gaia nodded and returned to her story-telling mode. “That’s a good way to put it. Our father would go from cheerfully throwing a frisbee around in our yard to screaming at us that we were failures. All of us but my brother. Lucifer practically worshipped our father - whether it was because he remembered happier days or because he simply needed a strong male figure in his life, I don’t know. But whatever the reason, Lucifer had the best relationship with our father of our family. 

“When I met Cheryl Crowley, everything seemed better. I was eighteen, Lucifer was twenty one. Our father was ready to send me to the nearby community college. He forbid me from applying to any college outside a thirty-minute drive. I don’t know why I listened to him. But I did, and for a long time, happiness felt a very long way away.

“And then Cheryl transferred into our high school. She was - is - was absolutely wonderful. Like a ray of warm sunshine in the dead of winter.”

“You loved her,” Aziraphale said. It wasn’t a question. 

Gaia nodded, once. “I thought Lucifer would defend me, if my father ever found out. After all, we were siblings, and that had to mean something. But apparently, it didn’t. Not to my brother, and not when it came to my father.” 

Aziraphale didn’t like where this story was headed.

“Lucifer told me that he was going to marry Cheryl. And if I spoke up, he would tell my father about our relationship.” Gaia’s eyes met Aziraphale’s. “What could I do? Our father wouldn’t have just hurt me. He would have hurt her, too.”

“So where’s Cheryl?” Aziraphale asked.

“I thought she’d died. I thought that car crash killed her and by some merciful stroke of luck, saved her son - your boyfriend.”

“Not my boyfriend,” muttered Aziraphale, although it didn’t seem too important.

“But I got this letter the other day. Look.” Gaia reached into her bathrobe pocket and handed it to Aziraphale. It appeared to be a grocery list, old and weathered, and spotted with brownish marks. 

_Honey._ Mark. _Baking soda. Eggs._ Mark. _Flour. Bacon. Lemons._ Mark. _Parsley._ Mark. 

Aziraphale turned it over, and ten numbers were scribbled in an illegible script, then a _+2_ underneath. “What does this mean?”

“It’s a cry for help,” said Gaia, very seriously.

Aziraphale didn’t burst out laughing, but only out of trained politeness. This spotted paper was an SOS? From whom?

“Cheryl and I were obssessed with codes. Especially the simple ones. The ones that everybody should see immediately, but you don’t, because you’re never expecting anything to be coded.” Gaia pressed the piece of paper onto the table, preventing the corners from curling in with the fingers of her left hand. With a black fingernail of her right hand, she tapped the marks in order.

“H. E. L…”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale. “_Help._ But if this is really a letter from Cheryl, where is she?”

“A mental hospital,” said Gaia. 

“How do you figure?” said Aziraphale, excited despite the levity of the possibilities.

“The numbers. If you add two to each number and dial that phone number, you get the number to Ossium Mental Hospital, an institution that’s been taken to court several times for mistreatment of patients. But it’s used by the rich and powerful. What can you do against a state legislator, or a celebrity, or your boss?”

Aziraphale read over the list over and over again. Help. “You think Lucifer put her there.”

“I’m saying I wouldn’t put it past him,” said Gaia. “I just need proof, so I can report him to the police. And then -”

The door opened and footsteps sounded down the hall.

“Lucifer,” said Gaia. “I’m going upstairs. You have to go.”

Aziraphale bobbed his head, a promise that he knew he couldn’t keep. “Thank you, Gaia.”

“Call me Aunt,” Gaia said, and smiled. Then she disappeared through a dark door and left Aziraphale alone with the pale light of the lantern and the sounds of Crowley and his dad talking in the other room.

“Tell me you weren’t talking to that boy again, Crowley.”

“That boy is Aziraphale,” Crowley muttered, but it was loud enough that Aziraphale could hear it. And so could Lucifer. 

“Do I _look_ like I give a damn? Because, I can assure you I do _not_. Now answer me. Did you talk to him?”

“Yeah...”

“And?” Aziraphale, hiding behind a door, could just make out a dark shape of Crowley. He was holding his arms close to his chest and cowering. He looked like he might be close to tears. Aziraphale wanted so much to run up and wrap him in a hug. To tell him that everything was going to be okay. 

But he couldn’t. Not yet, at least. Everything was most certainly _not_ okay. He saw Crowley take a deep, shaky breath.

“I told him… goodbye.”

“Good.” Lucifer nodded. He extended a finger up the stairs and growled. “Go.” Crowley nodded and climbed the steps. Lucifer headed the other direction. Right towards Aziraphale. Oh no, he had to do something, fast. 

Aziraphale quickly but quietly shut the door and held his breath. He heard Lucifer head to the kitchen and open the refrigerator. He took out something and opened it. By the sound of it, it seemed like some soda or beer. Aziraphale then heard Lucifer tromp upstairs. 

He allowed himself to breathe and sneak back out of the stairwell behind the door. Aziraphale wanted to see Crowley, wanted it _so badly_. Despite their awkward interaction before. 

Aziraphale heard Lucifer shout, “Stay in your room, and don’t come out until tomorrow morning. You hear me?”

“Sure, Dad,” said Crowley, and Aziraphale didn’t think he imagined the wry sarcasm laced in his voice. Thankfully, Lucifer didn’t notice. A door slammed, probably (hopefully) Lucifer’s, and Aziraphale exhaled loudly. 

He should go home. He was sure his mom had driven to her house already, because of the text he’d sent earlier. But Crowley… _Crowley_… 

Without a thought, Aziraphale found his feet climbing the stairs, as silently as he could. Crowley. Crowley…

Which room belonged to Crowley, anyway? Aziraphale thought about knocking on the doors, but it sounded like a bad idea. It was probably safe to say that the long hallway to the right was Lucifer’s wing, while the several doors dotting the hallway to Aziraphale’s left was Crowley’s smaller, more crowded section of the house. 

“Crowley?” he muttered. He softly tapped his knuckles to one of the doors. It seemed like a solid Crowley bet, because there was an unreadable wooden sign nailed to the door that might have said Crowley on it. If only the lights were on.

“Dad?” said a voice from the other side of the door. 

“It’s me,” whispered Aziraphale. “Please.”

Crowley opened the door. He was wearing a black nightshirt and comfortable-looking sweatpants. They looked so cozy Aziraphale wanted to reach out and pet him, although that seemed pretty inappropriate, considering. “How are you here?” Crowley asked. “If my dad found out… shit.”

“I can leave. If you want,” Aziraphale offered. 

“No. No, angel, _please,_ just…” Crowley grabbed his arm and pulled him inside the room, shutting the door silently.

Aziraphale stumbled inside, looking around. It was, thankfully, much brighter than the hallway, and he could see Crowley’s face much better. He looked tired. Upset. Scared.

“Crowley. Please. What’s happening?”

“Dad made me say all that. Before. I - you know, all the - I’m sorry.”

Aziraphale looked around. Crowley’s room was the definition of minimalist, and Aziraphale wondered if it was because he preferred it that way or if his dad didn’t let him decorate it. His bed (not that Aziraphale was paying special attention to it) was covered in a black comforter and red-hemmed pillows. A soccer trophy shimmered atop an empty bookshelf, and a framed picture of a woman, a man, and a young child was hung on the wall. 

Aziraphale almost missed the table pushed against a wall, holding a glass tank and a coiled snake. He looked at it for a few seconds, warily. 

“Aziraphale?” Crowley asked. 

“I… darling?” Aziraphale tried, remembering Crowley’s words that weekend.

“_Yes,_ yes, angel, I’m… well, if you want me…?”

Aziraphale grabbed the back of Crowley’s head and kissed him, desperately, open-mouthed and searching. Crowley let out a small gasp of surprise but quickly settled in to the kiss. “Mmph,” Aziraphale managed.

Crowley broke off the kiss after a few seconds, gasping for breath. “You like me?” he asked, which sounded like a ridiculous question to Aziraphale. 

“Yeah, genius,” Aziraphale said, then immediately felt bad. Sarcasm was not his forté. “Er, I mean, of course I do, Crowley.”

“I like you too,” laughed Crowley. “But also, if my dad finds out you’re here, he’ll flip.”

“I can go.”

“Please don’t.” Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and squeezed it tightly. It was as if he was holding on to some last bit of hope. One last chance of happiness. The thought made Aziraphale’s spine tingle.

Crowley kissed him again, cupping the nape of Aziraphale’s neck and holding him close. Aziraphale let Crowley move his lips against his own for a few long, sweet moments before gently moving his mouth away. “Are we just going to stand here and kiss?”

“You’d rather stand here and not kiss?”

Aziraphale grinned. This was one of the reasons he liked Crowley so much. He made Aziraphale feel brave. Reckless. Fearless. He took Crowley’s hand and led him to his bed, cocking his head and letting his smile grow. 

“I’m not… not _now,_” Crowley sputtered, face so bright red Aziraphale wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t actually a tomato.

“Not what I meant,” said Aziraphale, his own cheeks heating up. “Just. It would be more comfortable to sit down, maybe.”

Crowley nodded, still neon pink, and plopped down on his bed. 

Aziraphale sat next to him, turning his head and kissing him lightly. “Your dad’s not going to come in here and kick me out of school, right?”

“I don’t think so.”

Aziraphale cautiously placed a leg over Crowley’s legs, kissing him passionately. Crowley yelped and pulled Aziraphale closer, so he was sitting completely on Crowley’s lap. “I really hope my dad doesn’t think to check on me,” he whispered. 

Aziraphale wrapped his legs around Crowley and kissed him like it had been a thousand years since they’d seen each other, a thousand years of longing and loss. 

“I love you,” said Aziraphale.

“Shh. Don’t talk.” Crowley said, pressing a single finger against Aziraphale’s mouth before kissing him again.


	16. Crowley

Much later into the night, Crowley lay awake, staring at the moon just barely shining through his dark curtains. He was listening to Aziraphale’s gentle heartbeat and steady breathing.

His weight against Crowley’s chest made him feel safe, somehow. Despite the fact his abusive father was in the very next room. It was worth it, though, Crowley concluded. For Aziraphale. He didn’t want to disturb his rest, but Crowley still shook Aziraphale’s shoulder lightly, attempting to wake him up again.

“Aziraphale?” he whispered, shooting a quick glance at the door. He was still rather aware that Lucifer could step in at any moment and do any manner of things to them.

“Mmm?” Aziraphale’s head lifted from its previous position as he opened his eyes. They were hazel and beautiful, in Crowley’s opinion. He gave a small smile and touched their foreheads together. Aziraphale was still waking up, so he mumbled, slightly confused, as he spoke. “Wh- darling what are you doing in my room?” Crowley laughed a little.

“‘S my room, angel.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale closed his eyes again and started to drift back asleep. Crowley was prepared to shake him again when he shot up on his elbow and nearly shouted “Oh!”

“Shh!” Crowley urgently shushed him.

“Oh, sorry. Seem to have fallen asleep...” Aziraphale’s face lit up in alarm. “My dad! I didn’t… didn’t text...” Aziraphale blindly grasped for something -- probably his phone -- in the dark. Crowley put a hand on his arm.

“Texted him already. Sorry I used your phone...”

“You know my password?” Aziraphale still looked a little dazed, but the amusement on his face was unmistakable.

“Erm… it wasn’t that hard to figure out… I mean you’re you and the Dewey Decimal system… so… erm...” Aziraphale shook his head at kissed Crowley. Oh, thank god, Crowley shouldn’t have let him fall asleep. Then again, that would have been a bit rude. But still.

“That’s okay. I’ll change it later.”

“Bet I’ll find it out again, though.” Crowley winked, but he didn’t think Aziraphale could see it in the dark.

“I’ll sure you will. You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for, Crowley.” Crowley snorted. B-average was not, in any way, smart, but he would take it. His father was always telling him what a disappointment he was. Most teens were good at school or at sports. Sometimes both, like Gabriel on the basketball team and newspaper with Aziraphale. But Crowley wasn’t good at either of them. It wasn’t good for his arm or report card…

“Thanks, angel,” was the only thing he said. 

“I love you,” said Aziraphale again. Crowley couldn’t quite believe his own brain - _Aziraphale,_ Crowley’s Aziraphale, was telling him he loved him. And he’d said it before, too. 

“I know,” said Crowley, then laughed out loud, because that had always seemed like such a jerk thing to say when Han Solo had said it in Star Wars. “I love you, too.”

“Good.” Aziraphale snuggled back onto Crowley’s chest.

“Wait. Wait I need to tell you something.” Crowley didn’t want Aziraphale to fall asleep again. Not yet, at least. He wanted to spend eternity just here in his bed, talking and kissing. It was fantastic, even though he knew that morning always had to come, sharp and blinding. 

Just not yet.

“Mmm?” Aziraphale mumbled.

“Um, er...” Crowley glanced around his room. His vision landed on Anthony. Might as well. “Anthony.” he said.

“Pardon?”

“The snake. His name. It’s Anthony.”

Aziraphale smiled, and he was so close that Crowley could see it, even in the dark. “Why Anthony?” he asked.

“Oh, er.” Did he trust him enough to tell him this? He hadn’t told anyone, not even Bennie. But… this was Aziraphale. He wouldn’t talk about it, or think it was weird. Probably not, at least. Even thought it was rather strange. “It’s my name. My real one, I guess.”

“I thought your name was Crowley?” Aziraphale traced a gentle line from the tip of Crowley’s nose down to his chin. It was a silly, lazy, exhausted thing to do, but it made Crowley grin.

“Well yeah… but not many parents’ll name their kids after their last name, right? I just… sort of took it on. It’s a nice name, I think. You can call me whatever you want now though, I suppose. Just not in public. Still Crowley there.” Crowley should stop talking. He shouldn’t be saying any of this. It was ridiculous. He pressed his lips together to stop any other rants from emerging.

“Any other things you’d like me not to call you in public?” Aziraphale asked, playfully twirling a finger in Crowley’s ginger hair. “Sugar? Pumpkin? Other, non food-related pet names?” Crowley pretended to give this a bit of thought and smiled again. Aziraphale pressed his mouth to Crowley’s nose. “_Sexy_?” he purred, bursting into giggles after a few seconds. Oh, how Crowley loved him.

“Well, if you go on saying things like that, people may start to think we’re boyfriends.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” 

Crowley looked longingly into Aziraphale’s hazel eyes. They always seemed to change color in different lights. Now they were a soft brown. His expression was gentle and kind, but also amused. Crowley couldn’t help it. He kissed his until he couldn’t breathe and finally pulled away to ask.

“Will you be my boyfriend then, Aziraphale?” he asked, his cheeks flushing from lack of air and the circumstances.

“Yes, please,” said Aziraphale. “On one condition.”

“What?” said Crowley, a lighting bolt of worry striking through his heart. 

“Kiss me again like that, please.” So he did. Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale and held him as tightly as he could. _Don’t let this end, don’t let this end_. He prayed. God, if his father came in right now, seeing Crowley completely tangled with Aziraphale, well… maybe it wouldn’t be _so_ bad. Maybe Aziraphale could protect him. He was so much braver than Crowley, anyway. The way he was so confident with his love and how he showed it. Whereas Crowley always hid from his feelings and could never stand up to his father alone. Who was he kidding, that would be the worst possible thing to happen. 

So Crowley endlessly kissed his boyfriend, absolutely content in light cast from the sunrise. The sunrise. Crowley’s eyes shot open as he quickly sat up, causing Aziraphale to groan a bit.

“Crowley… come back.” he mumbled. It was clear Aziraphale was nearly asleep again. His eyes were half-open and he stuck out his arm to search for Crowley’s form again. Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s phone from the bedside table and turned it on. The clock read 6:20. _Shit, shit, shit,_ how could he have been so selfish?

“You have to go.”

“What? No, I’m not leaving you.” Aziraphale was fully awake now. He started to sit up, the black comforter sit draped over his legs.

“Aziraphale, my dad wakes up in _ten minutes,_ he can’t see you here.”

“No.” Aziraphale said. Crowley helplessly stood in the middle of the not-so-dark-anymore room. The light seeping through the curtains was growing, making Crowley more visible, and in his mind, vulnerable. His eyebrows were furrowed with worry and emotion. Aziraphale’s large phone in its pleasant white case lay in his extended palm. 

Aziraphale got out of the bed and carefully walked towards Crowley. He pushed Crowley’s arm with the phone down as he stepped closer. “I won’t leave you again.” he said.

“My dad will catch us and--” Aziraphale shushed him, like Crowley had done before.

“Nobody will find us.” he promised. Crowley glanced at the phone again. 6:23. 

“There’s not much time. We have to get ready for school too-- just leave now we’ll see each other in an hour anyway.” Crowley set the phone on the dresser and grasped Aziraphale’s hands, pulling them close to his chest. “I don’t want you to be hurt too.”

“Too?” Aziraphale asked.

“Hurt. I don’t want you to be hurt.” Crowley attempted to fix his misstatement, but it was too late. He knew Aziraphale had already heard.

“Crowley, does your dad hit you?”

“No,” Crowley lied. What Aziraphale didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. He couldn’t stand that thought. Which was exactly why he needed to get him out of this cursed house.

“Crowley...” Argh, he couldn’t stand that face Aziraphale gave him. It was like puppy dog eyes but six-thousand times worse.

“Fine! Yes, he does.” Crowley admitted, turning his head away in the direction on his right arm. It was badly bruised, and Aziraphale could see it in the now quite light room. “It’s nothing you need to worry about, I can handle it. But you need to leave.” Aziraphale stubbornly shook his head and gently pressed a hand against Crowley’s arm. He winced and Aziraphale quickly pulled away.

“It hurts. You need help. We can report him to the authorities, we can save everyone--”

“Angel stop it. There’s nothing you can do.” Crowley grabbed his shoulders and studied his face, as if trying to memorize every small dip and curve. “Do you trust me?” he asked.

“Of course, I trust you, why wouldn’t I--” Crowley stopped him with one last kiss and opened the nearby window. It was close to the floor, and Crowley had used it dozens of times to escape in the night. In fact, he had planned to leave that night, had Aziraphale not already shown up. 

“I love you.” he said. Crowley pushed Aziraphale out the open window. His face broke Crowley’s heart before he fell. It was fearful and outraged. But this is what Crowley knew he had to do. He walked over to pick up Aziraphale’s things and tossed them out as well, a bit to the side of where he would have landed. The phone should be fine. Then he ran back to bed and threw the covers over his head. He fingered the boyfriend-less shape next to him and sighed. Only minutes later, his father came in and flickered the lights.

“Get up. You have soccer today.” Lucifer growled. He turned around and left the room. Crowley felt a small smile creep up his face. School and soccer first, sure. Then maybe Aziraphale would agree to another night next to him. Another night of warmth and comfort and… _love_. The word gave Crowley a small chill and made him smile wider as he got up to start the day.

This was all considering he didn’t die in the fall, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing will be confirmed nor denied.


	17. Aziraphale

A sharp wind whipped around Aziraphale, tangling his already tousled hair. He was falling. _Falling_. He was going to die here. Oh well, it was a nice last night anyway. But he hadn't had time to respond to Crowley’s parting words. Oh no, he had to-- oh.

Aziraphale landed, rather roughly, on a sort of hammock thing near the ground. It was just high enough so he didn’t make contact with the dewy grass below. It wasn’t high enough, however, that it wasn’t uncomfortable. 

Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief. He was alive. And it was a school day, so he would see Crowley again in just an hour. The thought made a sly smile spread across his face. 

Nobody in the whole world knew about that night. It was just for the two of them to enjoy. That was absolutely exhilarating.

He stumbled out of the hammock and on to the ground. Looking down, he realized his shoes were missing. He scanned the area, searching. All of a sudden, his things fell from what seemed the sky but could have only been Crowley’s room. 

Aziraphale relaxed and put the shoes on, starting the walk home. Luckily his phone hadn't broken. He wasn’t sure his dad would get him a new one.

Aziraphale was already rather far away from the house when he looked back, just to see the window. Sure enough, Crowley was there, looking out. When he noticed Aziraphale saw him, he gave a little wave. Aziraphale waved back and ran the rest of the way home.

\---  
“Dad? I'm back!” Aziraphale called. He slipped through the bookshop to find his dad in the back. He was sleeping on several books. Aziraphale moved over to wake him up. “Dad?”

“Mhm? Oh, good morning, Aziraphale. Have a nice night?” Mr. Fell rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and focused more on his son.

“Yeah, I did.” Aziraphale blushed as he headed back up to his room.

“Ah, did you finish that book I gave you before?”

“No, not yet. Do you want it?” His dad occasionally had a habit of giving Aziraphale books he wanted to read himself.

“Yeah, thank you. Now get ready for school. The bus will be here in a few minutes.” Aziraphale nodded and ran up the old wooden steps.

Aziraphale took a glance at his bed when he got into his room. Crowley’s was so different and yet it had felt so… familiar at the same time. Like he had always slept there. Aziraphale shook off the feeling and went to get dressed in some proper clothes. He didn’t think going to school in his tartan pants and pale blue t-shirt would suffice. Aziraphale laughed at the thought and threw the pajamas on the bed. 

He settled into a cozy gray sweater vest and beige pants. Perfect. He went to gather the discarded garments when he noticed a black… thing in his bed. Aziraphale nearly had a heart attack thinking it was Crowley.

On further inspection, however, it revealed itself to be a jacket. It was some kind of leather cloth-like material. Aziraphale picked it up and squinted at it. It surely wasn’t his, so the only possible option was that it was Crowley’s. Oh dear, he was probably missing it dreadfully. Best return it today then. 

Aziraphale wished he could put it on, just for a moment. But he knew Crowley’s rather lanky body type would not produce any jackets in Aziraphale’s size. He frowned and lightly pinched the side of his stomach. He really needed to start eating less. Crowley was probably secretly thinking about how fat Aziraphale was underneath all the kind comments. He shook his head to clear the thoughts and set the jacket down. 

Aziraphale gathered his backpack, stuffing his books and pencils in it quickly, before the bus arrived. He snatched up the book his father requested and picked Crowley’s jacket up again. He held the black material close to his chest as he ran back down the steps. Aziraphale set the book back on his father’s desk. 

“Bye, Dad.” He said. 

“Have a great day, son.” Aziraphale nodded and headed out the door. The sun was well up by now and the bus was pulling in. Its doors opened with a hiss and Aziraphale got on. 

He was about to sit in his usual seat, right at the front, when he wondered. Did Crowley ride the same bus? Their houses (or bookshops) were fairly close by so… Aziraphale headed along the aisle, towards the back of the bus. It was were the sports kids usually sat. He glanced at all the seats, checking for his boyfriend. Sure enough, there he was. Crowley’s head lay against the window, asleep in the morning sunshine. Aziraphale smiled and sat next to him, trying not to wake him. 

It had only just occurred to Aziraphale how tired he was. It wasn’t unbearable, but he wondered how many hours of sleep he must have gotten. More than Crowley, surely. He really _shouldn’t_ shake him awake, but Aziraphale did anyway. 

“Hey, it’s me.” He whispered. Crowley’s beautiful eyes were covered again, but Aziraphale saw Crowley’s consciousness slowly come back to him. He turned his head and lazily drawled. 

“Morning, angel.”

“Thanks for pushing me out a window.” Crowley quietly laughed. 

“No problem.” He rubbed his eyes behind his glasses but Aziraphale shook his head.

“No, you go back to sleep, you need to.”

“Oh, m’kay…” Crowley head dipped at bit before resting neatly on Aziraphale’s shoulder. On instinct, Aziraphale glanced around to see if anyone was watching. But he found himself not really caring about it too much. He smiled and laid a cheek on Crowley’s flame-red hair, shutting his eyes for a moment as well. 

\---

“Everyone off!” The bus driver said in his loud, slightly crude voice. It was lucky though for Aziraphale felt he had actually fallen asleep a few minutes then. He sat up and gently lifted Crowley from his seat, who grumbled in protest. 

A steady stream of students began filing off. It appeared no one was looking at — or caring about — them, so Aziraphale took a deep breath and grabbed Crowley’s hand, yanking him to a standing position. By then most of the people who had been seated behind them were ahead, Aziraphale took the liberty of maintaining clasped hands on the way out. 

The bus driver paid no attention to them as Aziraphale dragged Crowley’s still half-asleep existence onto the sidewalk. 

“Thanks, angel, I think I’m good now.”

“Okay.” Aziraphale said, still making no attempt to let go. 

“You can… leave now, if you want.” Oh dear, did Crowley not want his hand held? Aziraphale frowned and quickly pulled his hand away, cross his arms and holding them close to his chest. 

“Sorry.”

“What? No, no it’s fine… I just thought you—“

“Aziraphale!” Someone said from several feet away. Aziraphale and Crowley turned their heads to see Gabriel jogging towards them. He was wearing a kind of work-out sweater thing and didn’t seem to be breaking too much of a sweat. 

“Oh hello, Gabriel! What’s the matter?”

“Just wanted to tell you this edition of the newspaper is published. In case you want to see your work out in the real world, yeah?” Gabriel gave Aziraphale a good-hearted punch on the arm that probably hurt more than it should have. The editor-in-Chris only just seemed to notice Crowley attempting to shy away into the background. “I thought you already got the interview with this one?” He asked. Aziraphale’s face flared up a bit. Perhaps it was because of Gabriel’s offhand remark of referring to Crowley, _Aziraphale’s boyfriend_ Crowley, as simply “this one.” Or maybe the worrying thought Gabriel had seen them holding hands only moments before. 

“Erm…” Aziraphale struggled for an explanation. 

“It’s none of your business, Gabriel.” Crowley’s eyebrows lowered, signaling a more threatening look. He had moved a bit more in front of Aziraphale now, facing Gabriel instead of attempting to remain invisible. Gabriel smirked and loomed over Crowley. Aziraphale grabbed his arm, in an attempt to run away with him if Gabriel did anything dreadful. 

“Everything’s my business, _Demon_ I’m the fucking editor in chief of the _Angelic_ fucking _Times_.” Gabriel straightened his jacket’s collar. Crowley’s eyes remained narrowed as Aziraphale’s blush intensified. 

“Well, lovely chat, Gabriel, best be off to class now! Don’t want to be late! Mind how you go!” Aziraphale chuckled awkwardly as he began to drag Crowley off towards the front doors. Gabriel remained glaring at them as they ran together to the steps. 

\---  
“Don’t suppose your locker combination is the same as your phone then, eh?” Crowley said. He was leaning against one of the lockers beside Aziraphale’s, smirking playfully. 

“Well, I suppose you could find out then, couldn’t you?” Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. “Not that I really have anything worth stealing.” He gestured to his still-open locker and it’s various school books. Also the little _M ♡ G_ graffiti. 

“What do you suppose those letters stand for then?” Crowley asked. 

“No idea. You know… I wonder…” Aziraphale had a thought but he didn’t actually have a… oh. Crowley was fishing something out of his bag. He produced a sharpie marker and handed it to Aziraphale. “Thank you.” He leaned into the locker more and quickly scribbled “_A ♡ C_” in it. He handed the marker back to Crowley. 

“Now you can’t return me.” Crowley said triumphantly. “That’s permanent marker, that is.” Aziraphale laughed. 

“Indeed. See you in science, then?”

“Science.” Crowley nodded and sauntered away. Aziraphale beamed and headed to his own first period class.

\---  
“Oi, Aziraphale, wake up.” Mhm? Who had said that? Aziraphale quickly lifted his head from his arms and frantically glanced around the Language Arts classroom. He found Anathema’s wide eyes staring at him in the next seat over, obviously concerned.

“What? Oh, sorry.” Aziraphale whispered. Mr. Hamm was at the front, discussing the American Gods, the novel they were reading. Aziraphale had his copy under his arms, apparently having made a makeshift pillow for his head.

“It’s fine, I’ll share notes later.” Anathema assured him. She went back to her book as Mr. Hamm continued to drone on. Aziraphale did the same. He really needed to sleep, but this was school. He couldn’t just not pay attention. Aziraphale sighed and glanced at the clock. Only a few hours left until science. He could handle that. He nodded to himself and focused what was left of his attention on _American Gods_.

\---  
_Finally_. Aziraphale thought as he practically skipped to 5th period. Ms. Maxwell-Martin was writing a chemistry equation on the board when Aziraphale entered. He glanced at his table hopefully. Crowley wasn’t there yet. Aziraphale frowned and sat down, taking his books out of his bag.

Passing periods were only five minutes long, and three minutes had already gone. Aziraphale found himself wringing his hands, as he usually did when he was nervous. This was exactly what had happened on Monday. What if he went home? Or was skipping class? But he promised he’d be here at science. Then again, he had also promised to be at school on Monday, and he hadn’t done that. Aziraphale anxiously glanced at the clock. One and a half minutes until the bell. _Come on, Crowley..._ Aziraphale pleaded to him as if they had some sort of telepathic connection. They didn’t, but it was a nice thought.

But as if Crowley had, indeed heard him, he came skidding through the door thirty seconds before he would be considered late. He was cradling his disarrayed notebooks and textbooks. A few people looked up at him, but most everyone remained focused on copying down the equation or talking. Aziraphale eagerly waved Crowley over.

“I was worried you wouldn’t come.” Aziraphale whispered after Crowley got settled in the leftmost chair.

“Of course I came, angel. I made a promise didn’t I?”

“Yes. Yes you did.” Aziraphale smiled gratefully and opened his notebook to record the equation. Crowley didn’t copy him, so Aziraphale sneakily stole his notebook with several loose papers scattered inside, and opened it for him. He placed it neatly in front of Crowley and went back to writing. It seemed Crowley hadn’t even noticed, though.

Mrs. Maxwell-Martin started with the lesson, and Crowley still hadn’t written anything.

“Are you alright, my dear?” Aziraphale placed a hand on Crowley’s forearm, hoping to get his attention. It worked, and Crowley’s head quickly shot up and he glanced tentatively at the hand on his arm. He visibly relaxed when he realized it was just Aziraphale.

“What?”

“I asked if you were alright. You haven’t written anything.” Aziraphale whispered. He gestured to Crowley’s blank page in his notebook.

“Right, sorry.” Crowley shook his head and picked up his pencil. It was one of those nice, mechanical ones. It was black, too, so it matched nicely with his aesthetic. Oh, his jacket! Aziraphale had completely forgotten to give it to him. It should still in his backpack. He would return it at lunch.

“Okay. Ask me if you need any help.” Aziraphale said. Crowley nodded and began copying the equation. Mrs. Maxwell-Martin started passing out packets for them to complete by the end of the period or for homework. 

Aziraphale thanked her when he received his and took a look. It shouldn't be too hard. Mrs. Maxwell-Martin also said they were allowed to work with partners, a well appreciated ruling because it meant he could spend more time with Crowley. 

Crowley, his boyfriend. Crowley, who he’d _slept with_ \- maybe not in that sense, but it had felt so absolutely wonderful to wake up in his arms, hear his strong and steady breathing like the beat of a soft drum. 

He had dreamt of Crowley, that night: Crowley `ing against the skin of his neck, as they basked in the summer sun amongst red and yellow flowers. In his dreams, Crowley had kissed him like they’d been dating forever. Like it was a lazy June afternoon. Like they had all the time in the world. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Earth to Aziraphale.”

“Sorry.” Aziraphale smiled guiltily. 

Crowley tapped his handout. “I’m not looking for any homework tonight, angel.”

“Why, you have a date?” Aziraphale quipped.

“Well, not at the moment.” Crowley smiled slyly, and Aziraphale wiggled farther into his seat. He liked this smile of Crowley’s an unreasonable amount. “But I could.” He waggled his eyebrows flirtatiously, which made Aziraphale giggle explosively. 

“Hush up a little, boys,” said Ms Maxwell-Martin, glaring at them. Aziraphale shared a secret grin with Crowley. 

Crowley leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Want to go out tonight? Our first real date.”

It was a wonderful thought. Them, together, out in the town. People would see them. “What if your dad…”

“Oh, he’s never at Bastille. He hates it. And nobody around there ever talks to him - please?”

He wanted to say yes. It was unbelievably difficult to say no to Crowley. “What about soccer?” 

“I’ll ask Hastur - he’ll tell Dad I’m feeling bad. It’ll be fun.”

“Oh, all right.” Aziraphale desperately wanted to kiss him for as long as possible. “Uhh, I think the answer for number one is B.”

Crowley stared at him. “There’s no way you were thinking about that the whole time we were talking.”

“Well - I wasn’t -” Aziraphale felt his face go red. “Just looks right. It’s not going to be below twenty, and it’s got to be an even number.”

Stare. 

“It could have been C, but it just didn’t look right.”

Stare. 

“Check it,” said Aziraphale, feeling significantly less confident than he had before. “Please check it.”

He did, rather blankly, scribbling away for a few moments. “Shit.”

Aziraphale’s heart plummeted. “Oh. I’m wrong. Well, it could have -”

“You’re right.” Crowley shoved the paper over, the equation scribbled in the margins. 

“I’m right.” Aziraphale grinned.

“If nobody was watching I would kiss you so much your lips would be sore,” said Crowley, laughing. “For underestimating yourself and for being brilliant and for being so freaking attractive.”

Aziraphale could do nothing but blush bright pink. “Y-you would?” he managed, squeaking. 

“Abso-”

“_Boys,_” repeated Ms. Maxwell-Martin, narrowing her eyes at them. 

“_Absolutely,_” Crowley whispered. 

\---

“Lunch,” said Aziraphale with a significant amount of relief. After chem he’d suffered through the lack of Crowley in geometry for forty-five minutes, daydreaming about Crowley’s fifth-period flirting (kissing!) and their upcoming date (kissing!!) and the night they’d spent tangled in each other’s arms (kissing!!!).

Aziraphale clutched Crowley’s jacket against his chest. It was slung over one arm, waiting to be taken back. Selfishly, Aziraphale wished he could keep it. Just one peice of Crowley to have whenever he was away. But that wouldn’t be very fair to Crowley. In his other hand, he swung his white lunchbox back and forth.

“Who are you talking to?” Anathema snapped. “I’m not paying attention. FYI.” Contrary to Aziraphale’s previous thoughts, she’d become _more_ stressed since being fired from newspaper. It was just that she wasn’t sure what to focus it on. One moment she’d be hoping newspaper wasn’t cancelled because she wanted to be editor next year, the next moment she was worried about what the cafeteria was serving for lunch.

“Well, I was talking to you,” Aziraphale muttered, searching the room for Crowley. 

Anathema took the ever-present pen from behind her ear and chewed on the end of it. “You looking for your ginger boy?” 

“Yeah, you see him?” 

Anathema raised an eyebrow and smiled mischievously. “He admits it, then.”

“Admits what? Whom?” 

“You. Your boy. He is yours, isn’t he?”

Aziraphale felt uncomfortable, his palms sweaty, but strangely proud. “Yeah. He’s mine.” He ran a finger over his lips without thinking, remembering the feel of Crowley’s mouth. 

“He _is_, oh my God! You’re absolutely whipped for him! Oh, he’s your boyfriend, isn’t he -” Anathema spotted Newton (Aziraphale assumed) and waved around in the air. “Come over here!”

Aziraphale was pleasantly surprised to see Crowley elbowing his way through the crowd. He stopped in front of Aziraphale and looked at him with a soft, sappy smile. “Hey, you.”

“Hi,” said Aziraphale, suddenly and inexplicably awkward. He glanced at the jacket. “Oh, this is yours. You forgot it, er, last time.” He handed the black mass to Crowley who smiled widely.

“You found it! Thanks, angel.” Crowley slid it on and faced Anathema again.

Anathema looked at Crowley with wide eyes. “Sooooo,” she said, dragging out the vowel. 

“Mm?”

“You and him.” Anathema pointed at Aziraphale. 

Crowley flushed. “Well, I - er, he’s quite - and, you, uh -”

“You don’t seem to have any words, so I’ll give you a few,” said Anathema, ignoring Aziraphale’s mortified expression. “Are you dating Aziraphale? Yes or no.”

“Hey! None of your business,” Aziraphale protested. 

“Yes,” said Crowley. 

“Called it.”

“Great. Now you know. Can we go?” Aziraphale asked, grabbing Crowley’s hand. 

Anathema took the pen out of her mouth. “Sure, but I’m coming along. I’m not done yet.”

Aziraphale sighed, but didn’t protest as they made their way outside and under an old, knotty apple tree. He sat down and leaned into Crowley’s side, liking the way Crowley left a quick kiss on his head. 

Anathema sat down beside them. “You guys kissed?” 

“Mm-hmm,” said Crowley. 

“Who else knows?”

“Nobody,” said Aziraphale. “So don’t feel badly.”

A nod from Anathema. “Who can I tell?”

“Newt,” said Aziraphale without hesitation.

“Bennie, should probably tell her.” Crowley repositioned himself against the tree’s rough bark. Aziraphale didn’t know who Bennie was. Maybe his old girlfriend? He wasn’t sure. “She’ll want to know she was right, of course.” Crowley added. 

“Anyone who won’t tell his dad.” Aziraphale heard Crowley’s heartbeat suddenly quicken.

Anathema sobered. “I’m so happy for you. I’m sorry Lucifer isn’t.”

Aziraphale cuddled closer, offering Crowley a tooth-rottingly sweet smile to comfort him. “Mm.”

“Leaving you two alone now.” Anathema stood and walked away. 

“Anybody watching?” Aziraphale asked. “I want to kiss you.”

He saw Crowley looking around the courtyard, and Aziraphale glanced around too. Aside from a few freshmen excited about their newfound freedom, he saw nobody. 

Aziraphale angled his face up, parting his lips, and slipped his fingers through Crowley’s hair. Crowley kissed him before Aziraphale could, stealing the air from his lungs. “Oh,” gasped Aziraphale. 

“That was nice?”

“_Yes,_” Aziraphale insisted. “Again.” Breathlessly, he grasped Crowley’s hair more firmly and kissed him squarely on the mouth. 

“Hi!! Are you being _gay_ in my CHRISTIAN MINECRAFT SERVER?” demanded a girl from behind them, startling Aziraphale away from his boyfriend (!!!!!).

“Erm… ” Aziraphale stuttered. Would she tell somebody? Or say something? No - wait. He recognized her. She was that girl who’d stood up for him in the cafeteria -- Pepper -- and he highly doubted she often spoke to the vice principal. 

“Nice meme,” Crowley commented, sliding a possessive hand around Aziraphale’s shoulder. It was nice to feel protected like that - not that his parents didn’t care about him. They did, and Aziraphale was very grateful for that -- but by somebody who liked him romantically. Somebody who _loved_ him. 

“Thanks,” said Pepper, coming around the tree and standing in front of them, her arms crossed. “So you two dating now?”

Aziraphale loved the look he and Crowley exchanged - as if they’d known each other for so long they didn’t even need to speak. It said: Can we tell her? Yes, I think so. 

“Yeah,” said Aziraphale proudly, because he did feel proud. Here he was, the introverted gay nerdy boy, clutching the arm of (in his definitely not biased opinion) _the_ cutest, sweetest, hottest, greatest boy in school. 

“Good for you,” said Pepper. Three boys came running up to her side.

“Pepper, why’d you leave?” the one in a dirty, gray sweatshirt said. He stuffed his hands in his pocket.

“I wanted to meet this fine lads over here.” She gestured to Aziraphale and Crowley. Aziraphale blushed a bit. He wasn’t used to this sort of attention. He was usually just the invisible kid hidden in the background of group photos. Now people wouldn’t stop talking to him, and all he wanted to do was rest against Crowley’s shoulder and eat his lunch. Was that so much to ask?

“Oh, okay, cool,” the other boy said. He had a blue jacket and a shirt with a few large stripes. “I’m Adam. This is Brian, Wensleydale, and Pepper, but you’ve already met her, clearly. We’re the Them.” He stuck out a hand for one of them to shake. Crowley took the liberty of doing so first, then Aziraphale shyly took his turn. “Haven’t seen you guys in class though, you on the other team?”

“We’re juniors.” Crowley said. He said it proudly, but not in an I’m-way-older-than-you-so-worship-me kind of way like certain others (cough Gabriel cough) might say. The comment did, however, seem to make Them a bit less confident.

“Oh, erm, well sorry to bother you.” Adam glanced at his friends nervously. 

“It’s okay, you’re not bothering us!” Aziraphale blurted. He hated making people feel uncomfortable. Oh, but now they would stay longer, which would interrupt Crowley’s sure course of action (kissing, kissing, more kissing). “You guys seem really nice, but, erm… we’d like to eat now.” Aziraphale gestured to his unopened lunchbox and smiled.

“Okay, nice meeting you, then.” Adam said. The others waved as they returned to the picnic table they had presumably been sitting at. Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief and placed his lunch box on his lap. He opened it. Inside, his dad had packed an apple, cheese stick, strawberries, carrots, yogurt and a turkey sandwich. 

Aziraphale, of course, was perfectly capable of making his own lunch and usually did so the night before. However, on account of his absence, his dad had packed it before he got home. He began to take the sandwich out of its little box. Aziraphale glanced over at his counterpart, who had made no move to grab any food. In fact, he didn’t have anything with him.

“You planning on starving to death?” Aziraphale teased. 

“My dad usually sends me with money for the cafeteria, but he forgot today, I guess.” Crowley explained, eyeing Aziraphale’s mouth in a way that let him know he was desperate to kiss him. Aziraphale wished he was a little more flirtatious, so he could play with Crowley’s emotions, make him want Aziraphale more - but Aziraphale was an absolute sucker for Crowley’s soft eyes and needy frown. So he leaned in and kissed him gently, indulgently, graciously. 

“Thank you,” Crowley whispered. “Oh shit. Did I just say thank you? I’m such an idiot. Who says thank -”

He was talking too much. Aziraphale was beginning to gain confidence when it came to unsolicited kissing, so he kissed Crowley again. Crowley tried to say something, but Aziraphale’s mouth was quite in the way, so it mostly sounded like _Mmph_ which was better than what he’d been saying before. 

“What do you say?” Aziraphale prompted, breaking away. He tapped Crowley’s nose. Maybe he could learn to be slightly flirtatious, at least. 

“Thank you,” Crowley mumbled, smiling. 

“There we go,” Aziraphale said, rewarding him with a peck on the nose. “I should probably give you some personal space.”

“I don’t want personal space,” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale hummed in agreement and rested his head again on Crowley’s shoulder. “Do you want some of my food?”

“I’m fine.” Aziraphale could tell he was lying, from the pitch of his voice and the flush across his ears. 

“You need to eat some lunch. Here,” Aziraphale said, handing him half of the sandwich and his string. “I’ll be fine, I have plenty.”

“Thanks.” 

“I love you so, so much, Crowley.” Aziraphale said suddenly, surprised to hear himself say it. “I do. I really do.”

Then Crowley kissed him and everything melted away, leaving only the taste of smoke on Aziraphale’s tongue and the feel of silky ginger hair between his fingertips. 

“We should probably eat now...” Aziraphale whispered when Crowley finally let him pull away.

“Yeah, yeah we should.” Crowley kissed his one more time and pressed his back up against the tree. He picked up Aziraphale’s apple he had set down. “Mind if I have this too?” he asked. 

Aziraphale nodded and took out the other items in his lunch. He fished out the carrots and started eating them out of the bag. He hadn’t realized his left hand had been unattended until Crowley’s shyly intertwined with it. Aziraphale grinned and squeezed his hand.

Crowley’s head was turned as he took a bite of the apple. Aziraphale wasn’t entirely certain Crowley was aware they were holding hands, but a small smile from him when he turned around proved Aziraphale wrong.

“So are we really going out tonight?” Crowley asked, with all the confidence of a middle schooler asking their pretty crush on a date. 

“I don’t know. Yes? Where?” Aziraphale could practically see Crowley’s heart stop at his hesitation. He shouldn't have done that. Yes! He wanted to go out! It would be - what was that phrase his dad always used when he thought he was being cool? Oh, yes, a date would be absolutely tickety-boo.

Crowley gave it some thought.

“Well Eden and I used to go to Bastille...” Crowley trailed off. His head pointed awkwardly upwards and he shrugged his shoulders. “This pizza place, diner, thing in town.” Aziraphale wasn’t sure whether or not he should ask who Eden was, so he didn’t. Were they an ex of his? Aziraphale felt intensely jealous that somebody else might have Crowley’s undivided attention. His kissing. His sugary comments. His… well, just to be _his_, in all honesty. 

“Bastille sounds great.” Crowley nodded and took another bite of the apple, but he seemed more relaxed this time. Aziraphale lifted his hand and kissed Crowley’s knuckles. “I love you,” he said, to further reassure the other boy. 

“If you keep saying that, it’ll lose all its meaning,” Crowley laughed. 

“Or you might actually start believing it for once,” Aziraphale reasoned. “Would you rather me say something like… I don’t know… ” Aziraphale fished for something. “Friends… we’re not friends. We are an angel and a Demon. We have nothing whatsoever in common. I don’t even like you.” The severe insincerity in Aziraphale’s voice made Crowley laugh again.

“You do!” he teased.

“So much,” said Aziraphale, happy to see such a joyful smile on Crowley’s face. “Crowley Ashtoreth, will you have dinner with me at a pizza restaurant in the weirdest town ever?”

“I would love to eat dinner with you, angel.” Crowley gently rubbed his thumb along the back of Aziraphale’s hand. His tawny eyes were soft and fragile, looking at Aziraphale with so much love he thought he might implode.

“I love you, too,” said Aziraphale, knowing full well it wasn’t what Crowley had said (on the other hand, it was what Crowley had _meant_, so). 

“Promise me something, though?” Crowley asked tentatively.

“Mmm?” Aziraphale hummed. He leaned his head on Crowley’s shoulder and looked up. Crowley’s face was lined with genuine worry.

“Will you… I mean… promise you’ll always be _my_ angel, okay? I mean, not in like, a possessive boyfriend kinda way, I’m not like that. You can do what you want! I don’t mind. Er...” Crowley obviously appeared to be struggling, but Aziraphale was going to let him finish. “Just please promise you won’t leave me.” Crowley concluded. Aziraphale sat up properly, but for only a moment. He enveloped Crowley in a warm hug, the kind he knew he would like. Aziraphale squeezed Crowley tightly, until he knew any worry the boy had would be gone.

“I promise, Crowley.” Aziraphale whispered in his ear. “I promise.”


	18. Crowley

18  
Crowley  
Crowley twiddled his thumbs from his table at Bastille. He figured a table would be a bit nicer than a booth for a date. Not that he had shown any preference with Eden, but this was different somehow. He scanned the diner again. Was Aziraphale even going to come? Maybe he had forgotten. Or didn’t care. That was also a possibility. 

Crowley traced a finger along the slightly greasy metal. He drew a little smiley face with a small halo circle above it. _Angel smile,_ he thought to himself. Maybe he could have a date with that instead. If Aziraphale never really did show up, that is.

Just when he was about to give up and crack it all up to Aziraphale having forgotten, the bell at the door rang. Crowley’s head instantly shot up and directed towards it. There he was, the bastard. Crowley smiled widely and waved him over.

“Hi!” he said. Aziraphale hesitantly sat in the chair across from him. “Worried you wouldn’t make it.” Crowley admitted, cocking his head.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Aziraphale assured. “Just fielding my dad’s questions about how late I was going to make it home.”

“Ah, yes, of course.” Crowley was relieved it hadn’t had anything to do with him. At least anything Aziraphale had said aloud. “So, you haven’t been here before, want to get the pizza or something? What kind do you like?” He leaned in and cupped his hand to Aziraphale’s ear, as if telling a dangerous secret. “I like pineapples on it.” he sat back in his seat and smiled, slightly wickedly. 

Aziraphale pinked. “I… also like pineapples on my pizza,” he admitted. Crowley brightened even more.

“Seriously? Well, how about we get that then?” Crowley called the waiter over. The waiter was an older teen, probably a senior. He had a light stubble pebbling his chin and messy hair flopping over his heavily lidded eyes. He looked like he needed a break, honestly. “Could we get the large Hawiian pizza please?” Crowley asked. 

The waiter nodded and scribbled something on his pad. Crowley turned back to Aziraphale. “Really glad you agreed to this,” he said.

“Me too! I think it’ll be fun.” Crowley saw Aziraphale’s eyes darting around the restaurant. “Hey,” he said playfully. “Do you want to play a game?”

“Sure...” Crowley looked around as well and leaned in again. He lowered his voice. “What kind of game?”

“When I was a kid, whenever my mom and I would ride the subway, we would always make up where everybody was going and where they would be coming from.” Crowley loved the way Aziraphale’s eyes were lit up. “For instance, our waiter. He got this job after being fired from a grocery store, because he ate an apple. But he thinks it’s unfair because he paid for it afterwards and he was really hungry.”

“Oh okay...” Crowley leaned against the back of his (fairly uncomfortable) chair, scanning the diner. “That family over there.” He pointed to a group of people. There were two tired parents and two kids. There was also an uncle, presumably, sitting on the other side of the couple and playing some game with one of the kids. “They swam here. All night and all day, they just swam. And when their arms wore out they rode on the backs of dolphins”

Crowley gave this a bit of thought. “Wait nevermind there aren’t dolphins here I don’t think. Or are there? Dunno. How about they… erm… found a boat and just got on that. And then they came here. For pizza.” he concluded with a nod.

Aziraphale giggled. “Long way to ride dolphins just for some pizza.”

“It’s definitely worth it,” Crowley declared. 

“What about… her?” Aziraphale waved his hand at a girl sitting at a booth near them, dark hair falling over her face. Crowley narrowed his eyes at her. Something about the way she held her head… Shit. It was Eden. 

“Um… well… erm… her boyfriend dumped her for another guy and she’s...” Crowley coughed awkwardly. “Very bitter about that.”

Aziraphale craned his neck and squinted. “Isn’t she at our school? She looks upset. Maybe we should invite her over here!”

“What! No! Aziraphale.” Crowley took a deep breath and cleared his throat.

It was too late. Aziraphale was already waving his arm around and exclaiming, “Hey! Hi! Over here!” Curse his adorable friendliness. Eden looked up from her phone and Crowley saw _something_ flash across her face. He’d never been very good at reading her emotions. 

“Aziraphale...” Crowley whined. “Why?” Eden was at the side of their table. Crowley frantically replaced his sunglasses and looked away. One hand was on her hip and the other held her pink-cased phone.

“What?” she said. Her voice was sharp and irritated. “God. You think you can just come in here with your new boy and flaunt him in my face. Jerk.”

“How was I supposed to know you’d be here?” How was he supposed to know Aziraphale would try to get her attention and invite her to their table? 

Eden placed a hand on her waist. “This was when we’d always go for pizza. 5:30 PM on Wednesday night. You think I’d change just because I don’t have some guy hanging on my arm?”

“Some guy?” Crowley growled. 

“Hey, I --” Aziraphale started, but Crowley held up a hand. He’d messed enough up already. Crowley hated the way he was thinking about his own _boyfriend,_ but he was so angry. At Eden, not Aziraphale. Eden had no right to get mad at him for dating someone else. Eden had no right to act like she had any claim to him. 

“Eden, stop making a scene. I’m _sorry_, okay? We just… weren’t a good fit, okay? It’s time to move on.”

“I don’t want to move on!” Eden stamped her foot and crossed her arms like a toddler who hadn't gotten an extra juice box. Crowley shrugged with an awkward smile. “But-- but you can’t just _dump_ me so you can be...” Eden waved a pink-manicured hand at Aziraphale. “Gay, or something. I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry, really.”

“Ugh.” Eden turned around, her hair whipping perfectly as she stormed out of the diner. Crowley rolled his eyes. He used his head so anyone within a close vicinity would know what he was doing. He learned how to do that not long after he got his first glasses.

“_Bisexual_,” Crowley said with an overly exaggerated voice and a smirk. It made Aziraphale giggle.

“I really am sorry, Crowley I didn’t know--” Crowley cut him off.

“It’s fine, angel. Not your fault. Just ah--” Crowley let out a small smile. “You’re paying for the pizza.”

“Okay.” Aziraphale closed in with a blush and a nod. “That’s fair, then.”

As if on cue, the waiter returned with their pizza. He placed it in the middle and walked off. Crowley reached over to the other side of the pizza for no apparent reason other than his hand would be a bit closer to Aziraphale’s. It didn’t appear the waiter had given them plates, so he just ate it over the table.

“So how is it?” Crowley asked with a mouth full of ham and pineapple. Aziraphale had just taken a fairly dainty bite of it, and he seemed to be pleased.

“Not bad,” he said through the pizza, covering his mouth with his hand to be polite. 

“Not just _not bad,_ is it?” Crowley gasped. “It’s the _best_, Aziraphale! And if you don’t agree, I don’t even know if I can date you,” he joked, letting an easy smile spread across his face.__

_ _ “Oh, yes,” Aziraphale assured. _ _

_ _ “Even for your refined New Yorker tastes?”_ _

_ _ “Absolutely. Please still date me.” Aziraphale took another bite of the pizza, and placed his hand a few inches away from Crowley. It was silly, how the tension in the air buzzed, how suddenly every breath seemed charged. Silly because they were already dating. Silly because Crowley was acting like he was in middle school again._ _

_ _ Crowley reached his hand over and cover’s Aziraphale’s. It was warm as ever and felt like a soft pillow. It also had a few droplets of grease on it, but that didn’t matter to him. “Wouldn’t dream of… argh, please just kiss me again?” _ _

_ _ A single raised eyebrow._ _

_ _ “Please?” Crowley heard the vulnerable catch of his voice, his breathless gasp. He was pathetic, and he knew it, but that didn’t seem to matter now._ _

_ _ Aziraphale smiled, the soft curve of his mouth making Crowley melt even further, and leaned across the table to press his lips against Crowley’s. _ _

_ _“Should we really be doing this _here_?” Aziraphale asked with a heartbreakingly coy smile on his face. Crowley knew he didn’t mean it, but a small pang of fear came from the thought he didn’t actually want to._ _

_ _“‘S fine. Eden’s gone, at least. Hey, maybe we could bring her back.” Crowley glanced at the front door again. Eden’s car was gone, therefore there would be no chance of her return. Of course, she would always be at school. Crowley sighed. Why did there have to be so much _drama_?_ _

_ _“Crowley, that would be rude!”_ _

_ _“Right, sorry.” Crowley blushed. He hadn’t meant to make Aziraphale -- or Eden, before -- upset. He never meant to make anybody upset. They just seemed to do it on their own terms. _ _

_ _“Let’s just not talk about it, okay?”_ _

_ _“Kay.” Crowley pointed his head down, back in the main direction of the pizza. He took another slice and bit into it, letting the still-warm crust calm him down. A few stubborn crumbs stuck to his lips, so he licked them off. In doing so, he noticed just the barest trace of Aziraphale’s lips on his own. Ha, he should do that again next time. If there was a next time, of course. _ _

_ _ “You’re 16 too, correct?” Crowley asked when he finished swallowing. “When’s your birthday?”_ _

_ _“October 21st.” Aziraphale said simply. Crowley raised his eyebrows._ _

_ _“Liar.”_ _

_ _“Why would I lie to you?” Aziraphale seemed genuinely confused, so Crowley felt bad again for even implying such a thing._ _

_ _“You wouldn’t. Obviously. It’s just...” Crowley let out a small chuckle. “‘S my birthday too.” He shrugged his shoulders, like it was no big deal. Crowley tended tried to not talk about his birthday a lot. His dad never made a big deal about it, why should he? _ _

_ _So he wasn’t quite certain why he asked about Aziraphale’s. It had really just sort of slipped out. Clearly his boyfriend’s birthday would be far more important than Crowley’s._ _

_ _“It is?” Aziraphale’s eyes lit up so brightly, that a small sparkle seemed to shine within them. “We really were made for each other then, weren’t we? Maybe we could have a joint party! I was planning something small, but we could invite your friends or--” Crowley cut him off._ _

_ _“Don’t worry about it. I don’t need a party or anything. You can just have yours, I’ll come. Only if you want me to come, of course, and we’ll celebrate you.” Crowley smiled like this was exactly what he wanted. Which, it was, definitely. Yet, a small part of him still wanted to accept the offer. _ _

_ _But he didn’t want to take anything away from Aziraphale’s birthday. It wasn’t that far away, now that he thought of it._ _

_ _“Okay.” Aziraphale said, but Crowley could tell it wasn’t exactly okay in his mind. He needed to change the subject. Luckily, Aziraphale did that for him._ _

_ _“I know you already told me about your mom...” he started. Crowley didn’t know where this was going, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. _ _

_ _“I don’t want to talk about here. And I told you everything, there’s nothing more to know.” he crossed his arms, his shoulders hunched self-consciously. Why did Aziraphale have to bring that up? They had been having a great time, no need to ruin it._ _

_ _“But what if you _didn’t_ tell me everything?” Aziraphale’s eyebrows rose mysteriously. This got Crowley’s attention._ _

_ _“But I did. We were in a car crash. I survived, she didn’t.”_ _

_ _“You got out completely unscathed? No chronic injuries?” Aziraphale played._ _

_ _“Er, well yeah.”_ _

_ _“Kind of strange...”_ _

_ _“What are you saying, Aziraphale?”_ _

_ _“Your mom’s not dead, Crowley. She never was.”_ _

_ _“What?” Crowley couldn’t even begin to process this. Of course, his mom was dead, he remembered clearly. The crash it… had an ambulance ever even come? How had he gotten out? Straining his memory, he tried to remember more._ _

_ _It was raining, he was certain of it. The road was slippery. There was a jolt. A jolt he had always thought be a crash… but was it? _No, no,_ he thought as he strained his memory further. It wasn’t a crash. The jolt was him mom stopping at the side of the road. It had been hard and fast. A delivery truck drove by like a speeding racehorse. “Bloody lorry...” his mom had most definitely said. Then everything had gone black. Maybe he fell asleep? Or the jolt was a bit too violent for his young body? The next thing he recalled was his dad. Lucifer had told him his mom died. If what Aziraphale was saying was true…_ _

_ _“So my dad _lied_ to me?”_ _

_ _ “I will put this quite plainly, and I apologize if I offend you -- but your dad is an absolute piece of shit.” Aziraphale pinked a little and said, “Excuse my French.” Crowley snorted._ _

_ _ “French excused, but seriously. _Who told you_? I don’t think I can belive it.”_ _

_ _“Your aunt.”_ _

_ __Gaia?_ Gaia had known all of this and didn’t even bother to tell Crowley. But the minute a gorgeous, nerdy blond boy walked in the front door, she told him all their family secrets. All the family secrets that she never told Crowley. Honestly, Crowley couldn’t blame her. Aziraphale was pretty impossible to refuse. “What did she say!” he nearly shouted. He lowered his voice. “What did she say? Exactly, I mean.”_ _

_ _“She said your mom isn’t dead. She’s in some mental hospital somewhere. She got this weird coded message from her apparently, and that’s why Gaia went to your house.”_ _

_ _“Well… if you are, indeed, telling the truth--”_ _

_ _“Would I lie to you?” Aziraphale implored. No. Of course he wouldn’t. Crowley doubted Aziraphale had ever lied in his life. Crowley, on the other hand, wasn’t one for truthfulness. Especially when it involved his secret boyfriend._ _

_ _“No. No, you wouldn’t. But if my mom is really alive, and she asked for help… we’ve got to find her. If you don’t mind helping me...”_ _

_ _“I’m going to help you, Crowley.” Aziraphale said. “Besides. We’ll be detectives! Or spies! I’ll be fun.” Crowley took a deep breath and smiled gratefully._ _

_ _“Yes,” Crowley said, standing. “I think it will.” He waved over the waiter for a box to-go. They packed up and set out the door._ _

_ _“Let’s go to my house, it’s not far, I think.”_ _

_ _“Perfect.” Crowley gripped Aziraphale’s hands with his and squeezed. “With luck, we’ll find my mom. Maybe then I could live with her, we could be together without sneaking around, everything would be better.”_ _

_ _“Don’t worry about it. Come on, we have to hurry if we want to make it there with enough time for you to stay!” Aziraphale pulled Crowley along by his hand as they ran to the bookshop._ _


	19. Aziraphale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale investigate the internet to find Crowley’s mom. Much spice in this chapter so you can skip if you like. I wouldn’t recommend that, however ;).

Two times Crowley had been in his room, and Aziraphale was pretty sure it was never going to lose its heady charm. He was sitting cross-legged on Aziraphale’s tartan-patterned blankets, scrolling through entries on the mental hospitals they though might house his mom, chewing on his nails in a positively sinful manner. 

“Hey, break,” said Aziraphale, kissing the skin directly under Crowley’s ear. 

“No, I’m busy.” Crowley clicked another link, which promptly led nowhere. 

“Stressing isn’t going to help your mother.”

“Kissing isn’t going to help my mother either!”

Aziraphale drew back, crossing his arms. “Fine. Whatever. Have fun.” He slid off his bed and picked up the books on his side table, putting a different one on top and then squinting at it. It had looked better before. 

“No! That’s - that’s not what I meant!” Crowley slammed the computer shut and stared at the ceiling. “Angel, come here.”

“Obviously, you don’t want me over there,” Aziraphale sniffed, replacing the former book in its proper place. 

“Oh my God - okay, I’m sorry, I overreacted and I love you.” Crowley said the words through gritted teeth, and Aziraphale suspected that although he meant them, he was very bad at apologizing.

Aziraphale crossed his arms. “Once more, with feeling?”

Crowley rolled over and waved his finger at Aziraphale. “Come here and I will.”

“Kissing me is not a good excuse for getting mad at me,” said Aziraphale, but he hopped up onto his bed with a sigh. Crowley didn’t kiss him. 

“I’m sorry.” Crowley traced a finger down Aziraphale’s face, over his nose and brushing his lips. “I overreacted -” A single kiss on his cheek. “And I love you.” Aziraphale let him kiss him this time, full on the mouth, sweet and longing.

“We’re going to find your mom,” Aziraphale promised, snuggling closer to Crowley. “I’ll ask your aunt for that phone number.”

“‘Kay,” said Crowley, his voice wavering a bit. 

“And we’re going to call the hospital and ask for their address.”

Crowley smiled a little bit. “You think they’ll just give their address out to anybody?”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. He hadn’t really thought of that, and he was absolutely sure that if he didn’t give Crowley a plan that instant, he would be upset again. For fair reason. “We’ll pretend to be your dad, then. I’m sure you can impersonate him?” 

“Probably,” said Crowley, whose eyes were suspiciously shiny.

“And then we’ll go over there -”

“How?”

“Gaia could drive us.” Aziraphale hovered a fingertip over Crowley’s beautiful jawline. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

“How okay?” Crowley croaked. He was definitely about to cry. 

“So okay that everything will just… fit together. And you won’t even know what to do…”

“I’d kiss you.”

“You’ll kiss me, then, and you’ll introduce me to your mom.”

A single, small droplet was running down Crowley’s cheek now, but he was smiling. _Good._

“But what if we _don’t_ find her, angel? What then? Do we just keep sneaking around my dad or just--”

“We _will_ find her,” said Aziraphale with more confidence than he actually felt. He had no idea if they would find her or not, but he desperately hoped - he desperately _needed_ everything to work out okay. 

“Promise?”

_No. I can’t make that promise to you, because I have no clue what’s going to happen and I can’t watch you fall apart in front of me. No, I can’t make that promise to you because I can’t have the responsibility of making sure your family is okay. No, I can’t make that promise because I love you, I love you so much, and I can’t lie to you like this._ “Promise,” said Aziraphale, and hated himself for saying it. 

Crowley kissed him, but it wasn’t a kiss like they’d shared before; it was hungry and searching, it was loving, it was searching for reassurances that Aziraphale could only pretend to give. It caught Aziraphale completely off-guard, stealing his breath away like the enchanting demon Crowley was. 

“Hello,” said Aziraphale, gasping, smiling. 

“I’m so scared, angel,” said Crowley very quietly, and Aziraphale wondered if he’d ever said the words to anybody else.

“I know,” said Aziraphale, because it was all he knew how to say. 

\---

“Crowley, doesn’t your dad want you home soon?”

“Good question.” Crowley put down his hand of cards - they’d been playing Crazy Eights - face down and checked the time on his phone. He was surprisingly competitive when it came to card games in general, which was a quality Aziraphale found surprisingly attractive. “Try asking, does my dad want me?”

Aziraphale laughed once, a sharp sound hanging in the air between them, then said, “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever. Don’t be. He’s not the one I want to want me.” Crowley picked up his cards and placed a queen of hearts over Aziraphale’s queen of spades. 

“Oh.” Aziraphale scanned his hand for hearts or queens. Nothing. He drew a card. “Your turn.”

“You’re not going to ask?” Crowley placed the four of hearts.

“Ask what?” Still nothing. Crowley was good at this game; Aziraphale was not. He drew another card. Crowley noticed, and grinned savagely, a motion that sent a thrill of need through Aziraphale’s heart. 

“Who I’d rather want me,” said Crowley, with a smudged blush. 

Aziraphale leaned forward. He still wasn’t much good at flirting, but he adored the way Crowley squirmed under the pulled-taut string between them that Aziraphale could break with a single kiss. “Whom?” 

Crowley giggled. “You know there’s nothing sexier to me than proper grammar,” he quipped. 

Aziraphale startled and realized there was an impossibly short inch between Crowley’s lips and his. He swallowed and said, breathily, “Who?”

Crowley didn’t answer. He set his cards down and kissed Aziraphale over the game. 

It was any other kiss, at first. Aziraphale was grateful for the break in the raw _need_, the wonderful movement of Crowley’s mouth, the smooth surface of his teeth. And then Crowley was pulling at him, the cards forgotten, Aziraphale bracing himself against Crowley’s chest. 

“Hello,” said Crowley, echoing Aziraphale’s earlier gasp. “Is this -”

“_Yes_,” Aziraphale insisted, kissing him again.

“Your dad -”

“Grocery shopping.” 

Another kiss. His hands wandered, from Aziraphale’s back to the hem of his shirt. His fingertips skimmed along Aziraphale’s stomach, a touch he didn’t know he wanted but would die for now. “Off,” he whispered to Crowley.

“What?”

“_Off,_” Aziraphale repeated, insistent, and hovered his fingers above his shirt buttons. Crowley’s eyes widened and his face flushed. 

“_Oh_.” Crowley clumsily tugged it off over his head and then removed his own shirt, leaving Aziraphale gaping at his fairly fit, slim, very bare chest. 

“Are you checking me out?” Crowley chided, playfully.

“No!” Aziraphale watched the dim light spill across his ribs, his chest, his gorgeous everything. “Okay, maybe a little.” He was rewarded with that same serpentine smile. Crowley shifted slightly, and the shadows across his front were newly glorious. “_Yes,_” he said, nearly choking on his desire. __

_ _Crowley pressed his mouth to Aziraphale’s throat, and he squeaked in surprise. “Oh, _Crowley,_ dear…”_ _

_ _A door slammed from below and Aziraphale jumped off Crowley, blood frozen. _Dad!__ _

_ _Crowley grasped in the blankets for his shirt and squiggled into it. Aziraphale’s shirt had apparently ended up on the floor, and he raced to tug it on. The door opened a tick afterwards, and Mr. Fell walked in. _ _

_ _“What have you two been up to?”_ _

_ _Crowley scooped up a handful of playing cards and said, “Crazy Eights?” Mr. Fell smirked, which made Aziraphale’s blush deepen._ _

_ _“I see. Az, I’m going to pick up some sushi for tonight. That good by you?”_ _

_ _“Yes! Excellent! Absolutely tickety-boo!” Aziraphale stuttered._ _

_ _“Right,” said Mr. Fell. “Just don’t get too crazy with those eights.” he winked and shut the door._ _


	20. Crowley

_That could have been my dad._ Crowley thought after Mr. Fell finally left the driveway after what seemed like an eternity. _Like, I could have been actually dead. I can’t die. There’s no Aziraphale when you die._ He sighed.

“I should go,” said Crowley. He anxiously shot a glance our the window. The days were getting shorter as winter quickly approached, and the sun cast a hazy glow over the row of buildings around Aziraphale’s bookshop. _No, not Aziraphale’s bookshop._ Crowley chided himself. _It’s his dad’s._ Glancing around, however, Crowley noticed that it really did feel like Aziraphale’s bookshop. On the occasions Crowley had come over, it felt just like Aziraphale. The endless shelves of books and the cozy atmosphere seemed exactly like a warm hug.

“What? No! It’s only...” Aziraphale turned on his phone and glanced at it. It has still been laying on a nearby pillow. “Five forty.”

“Exactly. My dad’s meeting ends at six,” Crowley countered. It was true. His dad often went to vice principal meetings after school. At least, that’s what Lucifer had always said. Crowley had always secretly suspected his dad went out on a Tinder date every once in a while.

“Oh.” Aziraphale leaned back against his bed’s frame and started twiddling his thumbs. “Yeah, okay. It’s for the best, I guess.” Crowley nodded solemnly and took his jacket from the bed’s corner. He definitely wasn’t going to forget it again. He had one hand on the door handle, when Aziraphale timidly spoke up again.

“Crowley?”

“Yes, angel?” Aziraphale smiled self consciously and pulled back the covers next to him.

“Five more minutes?” he asked. Crowley rolled his eyes good-naturedly. He couldn’t say no. Especially not when Aziraphale was giving him those pleading eyes, absolutely lit up with desire.

“Five minutes.” Crowley warned, practically bolting back to Aziraphale’s side. It was so warm here. The room had a certain glow to it, and the covers were soft and fuzzy. And Aziraphale was literally the personification of all things _good_. Crowley pulled the blanket over his torso, wrapping himself in a rare sense of comfort. _Five minutes_. He told himself. But he never wanted to leave.

\---

Crowley didn’t just run home. He practically broke the sound barrier in a frantic craze of hope and desperation sprinting back to 666 Archer Drive. The whole way he was kicking himself for decidedly staying longer than five minutes. He considered taking a look at his phone for another time check, but decided against it. It would only slow him down.

He reached his house out of breath and completely exhausted. He gave a mental thanks to the universe and practically collapsed with relief that his dad wasn’t yet home. He couldn’t imagine what would happen if he was.

Fumbling for the key, Crowley unlocked the front door and stepped inside. As expected, the foyer was cold and dark. Various clutter littered the floor. He tried to turn on the light beside him, only to recall that it was under maintenance. He grumbled and picked up an old lantern they had bought for Halloween. With a start, he remembered he wasn’t alone in the house, as usual. _Gaia,_ Crowley thought. _I need to talk with her_.

Stumbling down the steps to the basement, he knocked on the guest room door. Would he be in trouble? No, Gaia wouldn’t sell him out. Would she?

“Come in!” he heard a gentle voice chime. Hesitantly opening the door, Crowley stepped onto the carpeted floor.

“Hi.” Crowley gave his hand not currently holding the lantern a wave. Gaia was sitting on her bed, scrolling through something on her phone. The blue light cast an eerie glow on her face.

“Oh, Crowley! There you are! Where you been?” She smiled and Crowley froze. Should he lie? Say the same thing he planned to tell his dad if he was caught?

“Erm… soccer?” 

Gaia gave him a knowing look.

“Soccer, eh?” Crowley nodded. “How were the… balls?” Gaia grinned wickedly and bounced her eyebrows. Crowley felt his cheeks heat up. He was sure he had turned the exact shade of a ripe tomato in approximately ten seconds.

“Um, I--”

“Don’t worry I won’t tell.” Gaia winked and gestured Crowley over to her with her finger. Crowley obeyed.

“Okay. So, er, hello.”

“Hello. Now, I imagine Aziraphale already told you about your mother?” Crowley nodded and sat beside his Aunt on the bed. The covers were thin and as cold as the room. Crowley looked at his hands and wrung them.

“Yeah.”

“Perfect. So, as you would expect, I’ve been searching for her ever since I found the note.” She picked up her phone. It still glowing brightly, and now the light was cast across both of their faces. “Well, I think I found her.”

Crowley’s eyes widened. “Seriously? Aziraphale and I looked forever -- um.” 

Gaia gave him a knowing smile. “Soccer bench must have been pretty warm then.” Crowley put his chin in his hands and shook his head. “Or should I say the lad’s _bed_.”

“Please stop, Aunt Gaia.”

“Never. Anyways, I found her.” She pointed to the phone at Crowley so he could see. On the screen was a picture of a large white building. There were fences all around the perimeter. Two people in army-like uniforms guarded the entrance. Crowley shuddered. Could this really be where his mom was?

“How?” he asked.

“Just a bit of digging. This is their main site, it’s very vague, but I’m certain this is where she is.” Gaia shut off the phone, casting the two into a darkness dimly brightened by the lamp.

“When do we go?” Crowley asked. Gaia laughed sadly.

“Honey, _we’re_ not going anywhere. I’m afraid this quest has to be just me.”

“What? No way! She’s _my_ mom!” Crowley shouted in outrage. How could Gaia leave him out of this? He’d spent his whole life beliving she was dead. He spent his whole life with his stupidly abusive father, and it was all… it was all _somebody’s_ fault.

“And she’s _my_ wife!” Gaia countered. Crowley exclaimed in outrage.

“_Please._” he begged. “I need this. And no one should have to go alone. It’s dangerous. You could be arrested. And uh, not to brag, but I’m pretty good at sneaking around.” Crowley winked behind his sunglasses. He realized the room might be a bit brighter if he took them off, but he was stubborn. Gaia sighed.

“I suppose you’re right. But I would never forgive myself if you were locked up in a cell for the rest of your life.” Aunt Gaia bit her thumbnail in worry.

“I’ve already been in a cell, Aunt Gaia. Jail wouldn’t be too different. And I’m sure they’d let me off easy. But just think. If we find my mom, everything would be so much better. I could be with Aziraphale and not have to sneak around. You could be with your wife again. I--” Crowley tentatively touched the bruise on his arm. It still had a dull pain. He imagined what it would be like to have a real family. One that wouldn’t hurt him. One that would love him with all their hearts. “It would just be better. Please, Gaia. Let me help you.”

Gaia held Crowley’s hands in hers. “Okay. You can come.” She smiled.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“When? I’m ready to go now. We can just leave a note for dad--” Crowley started to button his jacket when Gaia stopped him.

“Not now. We need time. I was thinking Winter Break?”

“Winter Break? That’s months away!” Crowley protested.

“It is, but like I said. We need time.” Gaia stood up and headed to the bedroom’s door. “Trust me.” Crowley sighed and reluctantly got up as well, just in time to hear the garage door open and his father’s heavy footsteps on the wood.

\---

Dinner was never a very social event. Usually takeout or reheated pasta was on the menu. However, with Gaia taking temporary residence in their house, there were more options. During the time she wasn’t frantically searching for Crowley’s mom, she had made chicken. She went to college to learn how to cook, and it smelled delicious, but Crowley didn’t feel very hungry.

“How’s the job hunt going, Gaia?” Lucifer growled while stabbing his chicken in the center. Gaia shrugged.

“It’s going well, I think. There’s a nice looking restaurant that’s looking for new cooks, so I think I’ll drop in for an interview in a few days.”

“Good.” Stab. Crowley awkwardly lifted his cup to his lips. 

“Um, we had a test at school today.” he said, trying to break the silence slowly creeping into the dark dining room.

“Oh, wonderful how did you do?” Gaia asked.

“I dunno. They haven’t handed the results back yet.” Why did adults always expect you to know your score a few hours after taking the test? It’s not like teachers graded it five seconds after the fact. Crowley sighed and picked up his plate. “I think I’ll go to bed, actually.” he said.

“Oh, okay, put the chicken in the fridge. You can have it tomorrow.” Gaia said. Crowley shrugged and headed back to the kitchen. He glanced at Lucifer, who was scrolling through his phone.

Crowley carefully placed his plate in the refrigerator and ran upstairs to his bedroom. “Night guys.” he called, already halfway up the steps.

He collapsed on his bed and turned his phone on, immediately entering the messaging app. There was a small blue dot next to Aziraphale’s username, signaling a text. Crowley smiled.

**angelreporter:** You’re ok right?

**snazzysnek:** yes! definitely!! gaia thinks she found my mom!! :DDD

**angelreporter:** Oh good!! We can go on Sat then?  
**angelreporter:** I’m so happy for you Crowley

**snazzysnek:** me too ^^ she said we could go over winter break, which is forever away but yeah. um it may envolve breaking into a government facility so thats real interesting...

**angelreporter:** What the HELL crowley

**snazzysnek:** :3  
**snazzysnek:** its very much dangerous. but its worth it, you know?

**angelreporter:** Facetime?  
**angelreporter:** I want to see you

**snazzysnek:** i dunno my dads like right down stairs  
**snazzysnek:** but  
**snazzysnek:** …  
**snazzysnek:** yes please

**angelreporter:** Calling you

Crowley swallowed. Aziraphale had never actually called him before. This was sure to be dangerous, especially with his dad a floor away. He twisted his body towards the foot of his bed, reaching for his headphones. He plugged them in just in time to hear the gentle beeps of a FaceTime call. He clicked the green accept button.

“Hi!! Hi, hello, hi,” Aziraphale said on his screen. Crowley smiled wider and waved.

“Hi angel!” he whispered as loud as he thought he could get away with.

Aziraphale giggled. “You look blurry.”

“Yeah, well it’s dark, you know. I’ve gotta be stealthy here.” His glasses were off for bed, so Aziraphale was able to see his eyes dark anxiously to the door.

“I miss you,” said Aziraphale, sounding like he was admitting to some horrible sin. Crowley laughed quietly.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. And,” he touched his finger to the screen, virtually tapping Aziraphale’s cheek. “you’re seeing me now.” he said.

“I feel a bit like a protagonist of a Victorian romance,” Aziraphale admitted. Crowley hadn’t read many books - on account of his slight dyslexia - and Victorian romances seemed a bit dull, but he understood the reference. He tried to picture himself as a main character from a movie. He shrugged.

“I guess I feel kind of like Bella then, from er, _Twilight._ You know, you could get me in so much trouble, and yet...” Crowley cocked his head and softened his eyes. “I still love you.” Had he just confessed his pleasure in watching Twilight? No, that would be ridiculous. He didn’t think it was _romantic_. Or anything. Never.

“You are _such_ a dork, oh my God. A soccer jock with a secret _Twilight_ obsession?” 

“That’s not what I said!” Crowley protested, blush forming on his cheeks. “I was just… references. To things. First thing I thought of.” he smiled awkwardly. “Anyway...” Crowley started, trying to turn the subject away from anything that might connect him to a vampire romance. “About my mom. We’re going winter break and… I dunno it’s not going to be easy, but I’m sure she’s there. Maybe this is all some crazy sci-fi story, but… I just have to see her again. You understand, don’t you?”

“Yes. Of course I understand. I’ll come with you… Bella.” Aziraphale said with the slyest smile he’d ever seen on him. Crowley rolled his eyes.

“Guess all we have to do now is wait.”

“Yes, I guess we do.” Crowley froze. He heard the light fall of footsteps, coming up the stairs.

“Got to go, see you tomorrow, angel,” Crowley frantically said. “Love you,” he managed to add. Within three seconds Crowley had ended the call, turned off the phone, and shoved it and his headphones under the pillow. Just in time to hear the door creaking open. Crowley’s heart pounded in his chest. He was sure whoever was at the door could hear it. It would give him away.

“Goodnight, Crowley.” Gaia said. Crowley felt his shoulders relax and his heartbeat slow.

“‘Night Aunt Gaia,” he breathed. The moment the door was shut again, he took out his phone and started texting again, and lasted long into the night.


	21. Aziraphale

_October_

The month progressed as months do, days melting into weeks. There were a few days where it looked like they were going to have an early snow. It only flurried, though, which meant no delay and definitely no cancellations.

Aziraphale wrote an essay for his English class about the symbolism of snakes, and he thought of Crowley. He wrote an alternate version about Crowley with a thesis statement of _Crowley symbolizes love, hope, and joy; any book with Crowley in it is a good book indeed._ Then he’d gone through and penciled in _Crowley_ instead of his favorite character in one of his favorite books, _Pride and Prejudice_. 

Admittedly, he had a little crush on Darcy for a long time. And he’d already replaced Elizabeth with himself in that specific copy years before. Crowley had blushed when Aziraphale had shown it to him and said, “You’re such a nerd,” but he’d liked it. Aziraphale could tell.

Business picked up in the store, and Mr. Fell was in a particularly good mood for ages. Aziraphale’s mom popped by and they ended up chatting about archaic history and cuneiform and the classes they’d taken in college. They made better friends than they did spouses, Aziraphale thought. 

Crowley and Aziraphale stole kisses in the hallway between classes. They sent sugary texts to each other. They FaceTimed more and more often, and it always made Aziraphale feel like he had to see Crowley in person right that instant.

One time, Lucifer had a long meeting at the school and had dropped off Crowley in town. He’d ducked into the shop and kissed Aziraphale on the mouth. “Surprise,” he said. It was the best surprise ever. 

Crowley had a soccer game that Aziraphale made sure to attend. For a while, Aziraphale couldn’t quite tell which blur was his boyfriend, but afterwards Crowley ran to him, sweaty and unbelievably attractive. “Your dad,” he muttered.

“Follow me,” said Crowley, grinning. He jogged Aziraphale behind the metal bleachers and said, “Kiss me.”

Aziraphale was happy to comply. 

_Late October_

Crowley insisted on going as matching costumes for Halloween, but Aziraphale pointed out that A) that was super dorky and B) Lucifer would definitely have noticed. He was sulking for a solid four days, and Aziraphale wasn’t kissed for ages. Which he wasn’t mad about. Not exactly.

Okay. He did feel a little skimped out on. 

Eventually, Aziraphale caught Crowley in a hallway and said, “You’re overreacting a bit, don’t you think?” But he handed a folded red handkerchief to Crowley and said, “Wear this,” with a grin. 

Crowley looked at him, confused. “Why?”

Aziraphale showed him his blue handkerchief. “We can match, if you still want to.” He had the sense that Crowley would have kissed him right then and there if not everybody had been watching. 

Aziraphale wrote several articles for the newspaper elective, which had completely slipped his mind recently. He hated his editors still, but Gabriel’s rude, snide comments slid off him more easily when he thought about Crowley. He was still a little distracted, and his writing was not, in his opinion, his best work. But Crowley seemed to like it. 

Terreville celebrated Halloween with great zest, and there was even a large high school costume competition that culminated in a parade. Crowley went as a skeleton. Aziraphale went as a character from an old book. Neither won anything, but Aziraphale still smiled when he saw a red square poking out of Crowley’s pocket.

Anathema, who was a baroque and beautiful witch, won Best Couple’s Costume along with Newton, her much less enthusiastic familiar in the form of a black cat. Adam, Pepper, Wensley, and Brian won Best Group Costume with their costumes as the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. 

It started flurrying again after Halloween. Aziraphale knew it wouldn’t stick, but nevertheless, it looked magical. 

_Early November_

Crowley had his final game of the year, and Aziraphale watched from the front row of bleachers. He’d been assigned the most important sports article of the year: reporting on their last game. 

Gabriel didn’t quite praise the article, but Aziraphale knew he liked it. Crowley’s popularity skyrocketed afterwards, and Aziraphale found himself side-eyeing quite a lot of squealing girls. He did deserve it, though.

Anathema started to stress again when Lucifer announced that the decision over the elective funding would be over winter break. _We won’t have to deal with that, soon,_ he promised himself, but he still found himself anxious. Gabriel was, too - he assigned Aziraphale an article that he thought would make “people read it, even if it’s gossip” about Crowley’s new alleged relationship with a pretty, popular girl.

Huda said, “You got the best article,” after he got the assignment. 

“What do you mean?” I have,” said Aziraphale, grumpy. He would have to write about what he thought about _his_ boyfriend dating some other person.

“Well,” said Huda. “This isn’t an article about how Crowley is dating her. That doesn’t increase readership. This is an article about how hot he is.”

It ended up being a very easy article to write. 

_Mid-November_

Aziraphale wrote the article. He’d been worried that Crowley would think it wasn’t any good, but they read it together and giggled. 

They had their first snow day, which Aziraphale thought was a bit of an exaggeration, seeing as there was about a half an inch of snow on the ground. But everybody wanted a day off, he supposed.

He helped out around the bookstore, shelving and alphabetizing. It got really repetitive after an hour or two, and his dad let him out to wander Terreville. Terreville were mostly closed due to the snow, but he found a delightful surprise wandering Main Street trying to find the bookshop again.

“Dad, let me out,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale kissed him until his mouth was even number than before. “Let’s find somewhere to get hot cocoa,” he said. “Second real date?”

“Second real date.” 

It took ages, but they found a small diner lit with sterile white lights that served hot cocoa. They grinned, lovelorn, at each other across the table. “It’s nice out,” said Crowley.

“If you want to live in Antarctica, sure.”

“Does it just not snow in New York City?”

“It does! They just. Salt more. And it’s slushy, not… whatever this powdery stuff is.”

“Powder is pretty.”

“Weird, though.”

Crowley sipped his hot cocoa and tapped his fingertips on the surface of the table. “Winter is coming,” he said, the dramatic tones in his voice unmistakable. Aziraphale giggled. 

“It always seems to, doesn’t it?”

“Every year.”

“How unfortunate.”

“Oh come on.”

“What!?” Had he missed something important? Was Crowley going to break up with him for his ignorance? He didn’t seem all _that_ annoyed, but still. Crowley laughed, which eased Aziraphale’s unreasonable nerves slightly.

“Game of Thrones?”

“Oh! Yes, of course! Um, I haven’t watched it yet. Too many, er, things. I’ve been wanting to read it though. I think we have a copy, but, um, yes.” he blushed.

“Honestly, Aziraphale, you’re too much.” Crowley finished his cocoa and dropped a wet, chocolatey kiss on Aziraphale’s nose.

_Early November_

In November, David MacDonald -- the student council president -- took over the intercom to tell Terreville High that there was a Winter Dance coming up in December. Gabriel, who Aziraphale suspected was becoming quite fond of ordering him about and telling him to write things, put Aziraphale on the announcements beat for that week.

Aziraphale had no idea what to write, because the logistics of things didn’t make a very interesting article, and it wasn’t as if he could write about how he wished he could take his secret boyfriend but very probably would not be able to.

Crowley suggested he write about the organizers of the dance -- “like the secret behind all those white streamers, you know?” -- but that turned out to be quite boring. The organizers were just the student council members, after all, and all those white streamers came from the department store on the corner of Ecclesia Street and St-Martin’s Avenue. 

It took him until the day before the deadline to think of his angle, which meant no time to check with his editors for approval. He turned in a page and a half article about the politics and dynamics of dating in high school, and how the pressure of a dance can make or break your relationship.

It was not at all based on his personal romantic life, but Uriel loved it and Micheal loved it and Sandalphon loved it, and Gabriel didn’t have much of a choice. Uriel gave him the choice of his next article. He chose advice, Huda’s usual beat. She was happy to have somebody to order around and empty all the anonymous ask-boxes around the school.

Aziraphale found that most of Terreville High needed advice, and he felt absolutely awful about not answering them all. With Huda’s permission, he began typing up about a page of short-answer pieces of advice that they added to the end of the actual advice column. _Rapid-Fire Solutions,_ Huda called it, but the actual name of the section was _Quick Answers_. Which was kind of a terrible. But that’s what you got when you let Gabriel name things.

**Quick Answers, November 8th**

_My friend doesn’t want to hang out with me anymore! We used to do everything together and now she’s just ignoring me :(_   
_I’m so sorry to hear it! Losing a friend is always a sad experience. But maybe she feels stressed or overwhelmed by school. Try meeting up with her in a different environment and ask her how she’s doing. Sometimes we all need somebody to talk to._

_My crush is this boy who’s like, kind of popular. I didn’t think he would notice me at all, but yesterday he offered to help carry my books!! Should I ask him out? <3 _

Aziraphale had sighed at this one, because Crowley had told him the other day that some poor girl had been teetering under her gigantic stack of AP Science textbooks, and he’d given her a hand. “She looked at me weird,” he grumbled.

“She was probably just thinking about how very strong you are,” Aziraphale laughed.

_Well, it’s a possibility that he’s interested in you too, but it’s more likely he was just trying to be nice. Perhaps before you ask him out, you should ask him if he’s otherwise involved with somebody else._

_Like, you know. Me._ Aziraphale thought. He made a note to himself to check with Crowley to see if she ever asked him out. He hoped not. 

_I started dating this girl that I really like. The only problem is, I’m a girl too and I’m not out to my mom. I don’t know if she would be okay with it or not._

Oh, that had struck a chord.

_I’m happy that she likes you too! Stay safe, and prioritize yourself over a need to impress your girlfriend. If you do think it’s safe to come out in your home, tell your mom that you hope she’ll accept you and that you’re sure it’s not “a phase.” If it’s not, I’m so sorry. I hope you get the support you need._

_You’re not alone._

After that one, Aziraphale added several LGBTQ hotlines. He wished he could know who the girl was. 

Aziraphale went through the discarded advice slips every few days, writing a paragraph to each person, and then he found it.

_Hello, gods of advice. I’m in love with this absolutely fantastic fellow who goes to this very school. I love him quite a lot. Like, a lot a lot. I promise I won’t spend this entire slip of paper talking about how wonderful he is, but he is so perfect. His favorite thing to do is read. How nerdy is that? Anyway, the situation is as such: I can’t tell my dad that I’m dating him, and I’m worried - it’s ridiculous - that he’ll eventually realize he’s too good for me and be rightfully annoyed that we can’t be out together. Any help?_

Aziraphale wrote simply, _He loves you, too_ at first, then he took his phone out and texted Crowley.

**angelreporter** Dear seeker of advice. You seem to be an absolutely lovely sort of person with an absolutely lovely boyfriend. In fact, he is so absolutely lovely that he understands your situation completely, and wouldn’t have you any other way. - Gods of advice. 

Crowley texted back a red heart and the words, _Thank you very much. He is a lovely boyfriend indeed._

_Mid and late November_

The rest of the month passed in such a blur Aziraphale was sure it was going to give him whiplash. He continued running _Rapid-Fire Solutions_-slash-_Quick Answers_. He continued meeting up with and kissing Crowley when he could. 

A week after they published the edition of _Quick Answers_ with the girl worried about her girlfriend, Aziraphale got an email in the address he’d set up for the section. 

_Hello, whoever runs QA!!_

_I’m Cherry, and I submitted the question about my girlfriend and my mom. Well, I came out to her a few days ago, and I said what you told me to, and she said that she loved me and supported me and that she wants to meet my gf!! We’re all having dinner at Bastille on Friday. _

_Anyway, thank you so so much. You’re really and truly a life-changer. _

_Cherry, who has a girlfriend AND an accepting family_

Aziraphale wrote back.

_Hello Cherry!_

_I’m so glad to hear that everything worked out all right for you. I’m in quite a similar situation and I can but hope it goes similar to yours. _

_Would you mind if I published your email anonymously, and/or sent it to my boyfriend? I think we could all use a happy ending in these dreary, slushy days._

_Sincerely, the editor of Quick Answers._

Cherry wrote back, 

_Yes, you can publish it! And definitely send it along to your boyfriend. I’m cheering for you! <3_

It cheered Crowley up quite a bit. “Wish we could meet her,” he said.

“Some other time, I’m sure,” Aziraphale promised. 

Mr. Fell and Aziraphale went to visit his side of the family for Thanksgiving break, and Aziraphale was hugged by a million aunts and uncles and cousins. Last year, he’d visited his mom’s family, and this was the first year he’d had Thanksgiving with the Fells since coming out. 

They were all very happy with him, and Aziraphale suspected word hadn’t gotten out quite yet. But over dinner, his aunt Georgia asked him if he’d gotten himself a young man yet, and then Aziraphale realized that they did know, they just didn’t mind either way. 

“Well, actually,” said Mr. Fell. “Aziraphale has a very nice boyfriend.”

“Tell us all about him,” said kind, smiling Aunt Georgia.

And so he did. Aziraphale spent a good hour and a half going on and on about Crowley’s soccer games. Oh! And his newfound popularity. And the piece of paper asking for advice about how to ask him out. And how awful his father was. And how…

“You really like him, don’t you?” said Georgia.

“I do.” 

_Early December_

December break could not come soon enough. The hour-long elective period of newspaper class started to feel like an eternity, and he could see his articles getting more and more spiraling. He didn’t trust himself to give out Quick Answers anymore, so he asked Anathema to take that over in secret. She complained, but he could tell she liked being a part of the newspaper again.

Aziraphale could see Crowley falling apart as the tantalizing promise of a life with his mother got closer and closer. One time, he admitted to turning in homework written in French to his Spanish class. He didn’t even know any French. His participation in Chem was awful, and Ms Maxwell-Martin eventually asked him gently if he was all right. He replied with the word “cucumber,” and Ms. Maxwell-Martin sent him to the nurse for the rest of the day. 

That period, Aziraphale went through Crowley’s chemistry notebook to check up on him. Some of it was actually chem notes, but they were labeled with the wrong dates and his handwriting was atrocious. There was also a page that just said _atoms_ and quite a lot of doodles of Aziraphale with little hearts around them. That pleased him, but he was still rather worried about Crowley’s mental well-being.

Aziraphale finally told him that if he didn’t get his act together and start acting like a normal, sane teenage boy, he’d be forced to take such awful measures as not going on their planned Bastille date. Crowley responded with a whimpered “Fine.”

The next morning, Aziraphale received a bundle of purple forget-me-nots in his locker, along with a note that said, _I’ll do my best._

_Mid December_

Nothing was happening, and it was driving Aziraphale crazy. 

Crowley seemed equally annoyed, and although he’d been semi-normal for a while, he was starting to spiral again. He was blank-eyed during classes, distracted during dates. Aziraphale kissed him and drew away once, and he blinked and said, “What?”

“What?”

“I didn’t notice you were here,” said Crowley, and it shattered Aziraphale’s heart. 

Aziraphale wrote an essay and turned it in for Crowley, and he didn’t seem to even notice or care. Aziraphale wrote him a love letter and taped it to the inside of his locker. No response. Aziraphale left him a wobbly drawing with a _Pride and Prejudice_ quote underneath.

Nothing. Nada. 

Aziraphale told Mr. Fell about it, and his response was, “Oh, my dear,” and he hugged Aziraphale very tightly.

“I’m trying to understand, you know, it’s a super tough time for him and… I mean, I just want him to be happy, you know? It’s not about me. I know it’s not about me,” said Aziraphale. “I miss him. So much,” he said in a much quieter, much more broken-up voice.

“Sometimes you need some space.”

“Is the you me or Crowley?”

“Both,” said Mr. Fell, his eyes sad. “Both.”

Aziraphale sent a single text that night: _I’m sorry._

_Late December_

They didn’t talk until break started, Aziraphale’s stupid apology floating in blue, alone on his screen. Aziraphale came into school a day they had chem and saw Crowley, sitting alone in the corner, glaring with red-rimmed eyes. Aziraphale felt absolutely and completely alone. 

_How do you un-break up with somebody?_ he asked Huda.

_Oh, honey._

Aziraphale started to cry.

The first day of break, he went out for a walk and ended up at the diner where he’d had lunch with Crowley that magical snow day, and he wandered to a table at the back. The diner was bustling with tourists and locals settling down for lunch. He ordered a hot chocolate for himself.

“Alone today, sweetheart?” the waiter asked, probably noting Aziraphale’s obvious devastation.

“Yeah, just me.” he said, sipping his cocoa deeply.

“Hi,” a familiar voice said. Aziraphale let his cup down from his face, spitting the chocolate drink back in the mug. Hovering next to the seat across from him was Crowley. Had he followed Aziraphale here? It didn’t matter.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale breathed, surprisingly relived to see him. But that didn’t make sense. He should be mad. After all, Crowley was the one who had ignored him all this time. He should be the one apologizing. Nevertheless, Aziraphale felt the overwhelming need to get up and wrap him in a hug. So he did. “I’m sorry, whatever I did, I apologize.” he mumbled into Crowley’s shoulder.

“No, stop. This has all been my fault. I’ve been in a daze, I haven’t slept I--” Crowley stuttered, squeezing Aziraphale not so tight that it hurt, but just enough that he felt… safe.

“It’s okay.” Aziraphale said, reluctantly letting go. “Now sit down, tell me everything.”

“Right,” said Crowley. “Well, Gaia’s hasn’t been around the house as much anymore. She hasn’t told me what she’s doing but I think she must be doing something let’s-break-into-a-top-government-security-area related, so that’s a good thing, I think. But, you know, that’s left a bit more time to be alone with me. And he’s been so stressed lately, you know, with the budget cut thing and all. God, I can’t believe he _actually_ decided to shut down the soccer team for the rest of the year. Not that he was that involved.”

“Um, don’t most schools do that anyway?” Aziraphale inquired. At his old school in New York, they had seasonal sports. Football, Cross Country, Basketball. Crowley shrugged.

“Not Terreville, I guess.” he said, and then sighed. “Look, will you please forgive me?” he asked. Aziraphale smiled and reached out his hands. Crowley took them, gently.

“Of course I forgive you. Now, come.” Aziraphale stood, leaving a five on the table, along with his empty mug. He dragged Crowley out the door to the pleasant chill outside. The door’s bell twinkled as he caught the waiter from before giving him a small smile and a wave. He waved back. 

Aziraphale took Crowley to the alleyway between the line of shops and kissed him. He was so familiar, so wonderful, and yet it felt like they were opening something new. Forging through unseen territory. Unmelted snow collected in heaps on the ground, crunching under their feet as Aziraphale pressed Crowley against the brick wall, still kissing him as hard as he could.

“You notice me now, right?” Aziraphale said when he briefly pulled back to get a breath of icy air.

“Of course!” Crowley’s cheeks were flushed and his breathing was short. Nevertheless, he was smiling widely. “I’ll never forget you again, I promise.” Crowley tried to flip Aziraphale around so he would be the one against the wall, but it only amounted in them both toppling into a pile of snow laughing and kissing.

“I’m glad you’re back.” said Aziraphale.

“Me too,” agreed Crowley, his voice embarrassed and slightly ashamed. “So are we still on for the, um, rescue?” he asked.

“On one condition.” Aziraphale’s expression took on a sneaky quality, which made Crowley narrow his eyes in what could only be suspicion.

“And that is?”

“Come with me to the dance?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Crowley said. Aziraphale beamed.

Maybe everything would turn out alright.


	22. Crowley

Crowley glared at himself in the bathroom mirror. He had dug through his closet desperately to try and find his old black tuxedo from last year. It still fit, luckily, although it was a bit short on his wrists. He sighed and hoped Aziraphale wouldn’t mind. 

Crowley could just imagine Aziraphale in a stunning white suit that fitted him perfectly as he glided along the dance floor to a song that was completely his own. This would have to do.

The doorbell rang and Crowley quickly ran his sunglasses under the tap one more time. Then he quickly stepped down the stairs, his feet pounding at the wooden planks.

The door was flung wide open, letting in a small flurry of snow. And there he was. Aziraphale stood in the doorway, shivering in his tuxedo. The fabric was thinner than what he usually wore, so Crowley understood the chill, but by god was he cute.

“Hi,” Crowley breathed.

“Hello! Please get in the car! It’s cold!” Aziraphale chimed, his voice a bit higher than usual, which made Crowley giggle.

“Yeah, of course.”

The two scrambled into the back of Mr. Fell’s car. He had left it running, so the air was warm and cozy inside. It wasn’t a limo, but it felt perfect to Crowley. His dad had left on another “outing,” which Crowley was sure were related to something affair-related. The plus side was that he wouldn’t be home for several hours, which left Crowley plenty of time to go to the dance with his boyfriend. Crowley smiled shyly at Aziraphale, then turned to Mr. Fell in the front seat.

“Thank you for taking me, Mr. Fell.” he said.

“Oh of course! So sushi tonight, yes?”

“Yes, definitely!” said Aziraphale, nodding so enthusiastically, Crowley couldn’t help but grin wider.

\---  
The restaurant was pretty nice. It had a warm atmosphere, and Crowley could see why Aziraphale liked it. It was especially obviously the Aziraphale frequented the place, as they were greeted directly by the waiter.

“Hello, Aziraphale. The usual, I presume?”

“Hi! Yes, please!” Aziraphale shut his eyes and beamed. Crowley practically melted from the sheer joy radiating off of him.

“And for your friend?” the waiter asked. Crowley sighed. Why did everyone have to assume they were just two bros? They were at a fancy restaurant, alone, and wearing tuxedos, for goodness’ sake.

“Oh, he’s not my friend.” Aziraphale blushed.

“His date, actually. I’ll have the, uh,” Crowley glanced at the menu, trying to find something that didn’t have anything still moving in it. “California roll.” The waiter wrote his order on the sheet.

“Excellent, we’ll be out with it soon.” Crowley nodded and smiled awkwardly as the waiter left. That took too much social effort. He exhaled and leaned back in his seat.

“So.” he said.

“So.” Aziraphale said. He had perfect posture, as usual. Crowley didn’t think it was physically possible for him to sit like that, at this point.

“You come here often, yeah?” Crowley smirked. “You’re practically royalty.”

“Oh yes!” Aziraphale’s face lit up. “We come here usually when my dad forgets to make dinner and things. Which is quite a bit, mind.” Crowley nodded. “I’ve had almost everything on the menu!”

“Impressive. Yeah, I’ve never had...” Crowley squinted at the menu. “Um, this. I don’t even want to try and pronounce it. I’ll probably offend someone.” Aziraphale laughed.

“Yeah, maybe don’t do that.”

“You sure you want to go to this thing with me, though?” Crowley asked, drawing a lazy circle around the rim of his cup. “I mean, I’ve never danced.”

“Everyone’s danced, Crowley, don’t be ridiculous.” Aziraphale sipped from the cup of steaming tea.

“No, not me. Well, actually one time. But we don’t speak of that.”

“Oh don’t we?” Aziraphale said. His eyebrows raised playfully from behind the mug.

“No.”

“What was it.”

“Nah.”

“Please.”

Crowley groaned. Aziraphale was making _that_ face again. “It was in eighth grade. Hastur, Ligur, and I, back when we were good friends, make this,” Crowley cringed “video. Um. We had this giant pole thing we found and sort of… danced around it. We were lowkey a cult. And we had a greenscreen we edited with this crazy rainbow design thing. Now that I think about it… it was amazing.” 

Tea came out of Aziraphale’s nose, making him cough uncontrollably. Crowley started to get up to help him, but Aziraphale held out a hand, telling him to sit down. He let out one last cough and breathed.

“Are you okay?” Crowley asked.

“Yes, yes fine just… where on earth can I find this?” Aziraphale said, laughing with his cheeks flushed from absence of breath. Crowley thought back on it. They hadn’t shared it anywhere he didn’t think. Wait.

“Ligur’s youtube channel. Well, his old one. It’s probably still up.” Crowley put his head in his hands, shaking it with embarrassment. “God, I wish I asked him to delete it.”

“I’m finding it the second I get home. But now, I’m spending time with you.”

“Right.” Crowley nodded. “Please don’t break up with me when you see it.”

“Doubtful.”

“Okay.” 

A few minutes later, their food arrived in two pleasant-looking rectangular plates. Crowley glanced down at his and frowned. Rice, seaweed, and some things he couldn’t exactly place were all wrapped up in five rolls. He wasn’t sure about this. Crowley glanced up at Aziraphale, who had already picked up his chopsticks, positioning them in his right hand. He took a deep breath in and smiled, clearly satisfied.

“Why do you consume… that?” Crowley asked, only teasing.

“It’s sushi!” said Aziraphale, agast that Crowley would even _imply_ it was anything but perfection. “It’s nice, you dip it in soy sauce. Here.” Aziraphale picked up said condiment from the end of the table and placing it in front of Crowley’s plate. “Enlighten yourself.” 

Crowley inspected the dark substance suspiciously until eventually shrugging and pouring it in the corner of his plate. He quickly debated whether or not to use chopsticks, and decided against it. Picking the sushi up with his fingers, he dipped it in soy sauce and took a bite.

“Not bad,” he admitted, his left cheek puffed from the food. Aziraphale clapped his hands together.

“I’m glad you like it! Now we can come here more!”

“Ha, no. Still prefer pizza.” Crowley said.

“Yes, of course. I see that.” Aziraphale agreed, poking at his sushi with his chopsticks. “Um, I’ve been meaning to ask, and I do feel kind of bad but, er, did that science book girl ever ask you out?”

“Who?” Crowely racked his brain for anyone of the female gender that might match that description. “Oh, yeah, her! No, she didn’t say anything to me after. Why?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale stirred the ice cubes, close to melting now, in his water. “she just asked for advice in the _Quick Answers_ colum.” He said _Quick Answers_ with quotation marks. Clearly he wasn’t all too pleased with the name.

“Ah, I see. What’d she say?”

“She said that she likes you and wants to ask you out. Can’t blame her, honestly.” Aziraphale winked.

“Ah, I see. What’d you say?”

“I passively told her to perhaps check your current relationship status.” Aziraphale nodded curtly and took another bite of sushi.

“Mhm. I feel bad for her though. Maybe I would agree to a date. If, of course, I wasn’t already taken by the most adorable boy in Terreville.” 

Aziraphale blushed and tucked a frosted curl behind one ear. “I guess.” Crowley shook his head. How on earth did Aziraphale not see it? Crowley picked up another sushi roll with his fingers and stuffed it in his mouth. It did taste good, once he got used to it.

The rest of the sushi disappeared a bit too quickly, in Crowley’s opinion, but he knew he had a history of eating too fast. Meanwhile, Aziraphale was _still_ on his second roll. Crowley was baffled, but Aziraphale looked like he was really enjoying the meal. Crowley stared at his empty plate for a moment, a small pool of soy sauce still puddling in the corner. He sighed and stood up.

“Where are you going?” Aziraphale asked. His mouth as still full, so he politely covered his mouth while speaking.

“Sit next to you.” Crowley slid into the booth seat next to Aziraphale. “Hi,” he said, grasping the hand Aziraphale wasn’t using to expertly grasp chopsticks.

“Hey,” said Aziraphale, breathlessly.

“Do you always take this long to eat?” Crowley whispered, mostly joking.

“Well, I have to _enjoy_ it. Instead of practically _unhinging_ my jaw to eat.”

“I don’t _unhinge_.”

“Oh do you?” Aziraphale’s expression was playful and Crowley coudln;t help but smile.

“No.”

“Well, I’ll try to be a bit quicker than normal. For you,” said Aziraphale. He squeezed Crowley’s hand and continued to hold it tightly until he finished the other three rolls.

Crowley said, “We haven’t kissed yet.”

“Yes, we have. Brick wall?”

“Fine, then, I _won’t_ kiss you.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Crowley.” Aziraphale set down his chopsticks and wrapped Crowley in a full hug. He planted a firm kiss on his lips. Crowley squeaked. Why did he keep doing that? It was embarrassing. But god, this wasn’t. He pressed his lips into the kiss.

Aziraphale tasted like fish. Why was that hot? Fish and salt. Fish and salt should not be hot. But it was. On Aziraphale, at least. Quite a lot was hot when it was about Aziraphale.

Crowley finally pulled away and let go of Aziraphale. “Ready?” he asked.

“Mhm.” Crowley started to slide out of the seat, with Aziraphale scooting behind him. They stood, and Crowley took his hand.

On their way out however, he noticed a lady with frizzled brown hair _glaring_ at them. She had a little girl with her -- maybe four or five -- and she was holding her hand in front of the girl’s eyes. Crowley gulped when he saw her and Aziraphale rushed him out the door.

“Do you --”

“Shh, want to kiss me again when we’re outside?”

“That lady…”

Aziraphale took his hand, jogged outside, and pulled him behind a tree, kissing him deeply and grabbing fistfuls of Crowley’s shirt in his hands. “I want you so much.”

“Do you mean, I, uh.” Crowley felt himself go warm.

“What?! No! I didn’t! I mean, not unless you… I mean, you’re… but I…” 

Crowley loved to see him flustered like this. “Let’s go to the dance, shall we?”

“We shall.” Aziraphale linked his arm around Crowley’s and walked him back to Mr. Fell’s car. Mr. Fell himself was reading something on his phone in the front seat. He looked up and unlocked the back doors when he saw them coming. 

“Hi guys, was it good?”

“Yes!” said Aziraphale.

“Better than expected.” shrugged Crowley.

“Glad to hear it.” Mr. Fell said. He seemed slightly saddened to put his phone down, but he turned it off and started backing out of the sushi restaurant's driveway.

\---

The entire High School gym was bathed in bright blue lights and music with a heavy bass beat.

“This is amazing.” Crowley grinned, while Aziraphale looked a little more concerned for his own well being.

“Will anyone--” Aziraphale started to ask.

“Relax,” Crowley said, squeezing Aziraphale’s hand, who nodded and took a breath. They headed towards the epicenter of the dance, but were blocked by a girl with curly blonde hair and a light blue, sparkly dress. The hem was so short, it was practically at her knees. She was flushed and smiling widely.

“Hi, um, not sure if you remember me,” she said. “I’m Alice.”

“Oh, yeah, Book Girl! I mean -- uh, hi, Alice.” Crowley waved, unlocking his hand from Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale frowned at him. Alice seemed to finally take notice of the boy next to Crowley.

“Oh hello. You came with your friend, Crowley? That’s cool! Um, hey, I was wondering,” Alice twirled her hair around her pointer finger and looked off to the side. “if you wanted to maybe dance with me?”

“Dance? Uh,” Crowley glanced over at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale smiled poisonously. “Alice, was it?”

“Yes!”

“Well, _Alice,_ I am this young man’s _date_, and I think you’d be quite _interested_ to know that not only is he my _date_, he is my _boyfriend_, so if you _would be ever so kind_, move along and dance to some silly teenage pop song thank you _very much_.”

Alice blinked at them, and said, “Um. Okay,” and ran off.

“Nobody’s ever gotten jealous for me before,” Crowley muttered under his breath.

“Well she is, now,” said Aziraphale with a rather vicious smile. “Oh, I do so like being yours, Crowley.” 

“Nah, you’re not mine.” said Crowley. “I am completely and entirely yours.”

“I can live with that.”

“You better. Shall we dance?”

Aziraphale laughed and said, “To what?”

From the loudspeakers, somebody sang, “_My gift is my so-oo-oong._”

“Elton John, I guess?” Crowley suggested.

“Oh, _Crowley_. This is most definitely _Moulin Rouge_’s version, covered by Ewan McGregor...” 

“Just shut up and dance with me.” Crowley laughed, dragging Aziraphale deeper into the crowd of teenagers.

“I actually think this is a very bad idea--” Aziraphale started to say. Crowley sighed, with as much drama as he could muster. He let go of Aziraphale’s hand.

“Fine. I’ll dance alone.” Crowley walked to DJ, which at the time was the Vice President of the student council, Michael Shine. Crowley requested a song. 

He jogged back to the center of the gym. A few people saw him and moved over. He waited for the old music to fade out. Then a familiar beat began to play.

“Steve walks warily down the street with the brim pulled way down low.” Crowley walked in one place and tipped an imaginary hat.

“Ain’t no sound but the sound of his feet,” A twirl and a jump.

“Machine guns ready to go!” Crowley raised his hands in the air. The high schoolers started to take notice of him. They all gathered in a circle around him and clapped to the rhythm of the song.

“Are you ready, hey, are you ready for this?” Crowley extended on arm, palm open wide. He waited. The music continued to play.

“Are you hanging on the edge of your seat?” His arm was starting to tire. _Come on..._ he thought.

“Out of the doorway the bullets rip” A figure pushed its way through the barrier of sweaty bodies. And there he was.

“To the sound of the beat.” Aziraphale said, standing at the edge of the circle, smiling broadly. Crowley smiled back and ran to him, grabbing onto his hand. He dragged Aziraphale back to the middle of the circle. The surrounding teenagers cheered and sang along with the chorus.

“Another one bites the dust! Another one bites the dust!” Suddenly, the whole gym became a wonderland of Queen lyrics and bad dance moves. Crowley was replicating 70s dance moves he learned from a youtube video, while Aziraphale was attempting some strange one-man gavotte. Everyone else had split into pairs and were also attempting to choreograph their own dances.

The song ended with one last “another one bites the dust.” All the couples at the dance were grinning wildly. Crowley and Aziraphale were still in the middle. Aziraphale was breathing heavily from his elaborate dance moves. Crowley worked up as much courage as he could, spun the boy around, and kissed him on the lips.

Most of the crowd cheered. A few people thought it was gross, but that was mostly just teenage insecurity. Crowley pulled away, out of breath and absolutely thrilled.

It was a good night after all.

The next thing would be to find his mom. He hoped he was ready.


	23. Aziraphale

Winter break had been going strong for about a week now. He was starting to suspect that maybe he wouldn’t be included in the possibly illegal expedition to rescue Crowley’s mom. That is, until he received a text from Crowley the day prior.

**snazzysnek:** You ready? tmrw, 6am

Aziraphale glanced at the text and quickly typed out a response, now that what he was saying was true.

**angelreporter:** I’m ready.

Another text binged almost immediately. Aziraphale checked it as he slipped on his boots. They were brown leather, and perfect for any snow they might encounter.

**snazzysnek;** we’re outside. you dont have to come you know

**angelreporter:** I’m not scared.

Aziraphale nodded and shrugged on his jacket. He opened the bookshop’s door and felt a cold breeze wash over any exposed skin. Sure enough, a car was parked by the sidewalk. Crowley was waving through the window. Aziraphale waved back and rushed to the car.

“Hello, Gaia.” Aziraphale said as he climbed in the car. He dropped a light kiss on Crowley’s cheek.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Crowley took Aziraphale hand and squeezed it. His smile was tight. Aziraphale could tell he was nervous.

“Your dad knows where you’re going, right?” Gaia asked, pulling out of the street.

“What? Oh, yes, he knows I’m with you.” Aziraphale hadn’t exactly told him _everything_, but his dad liked to be in the know. Gaia laughed at his vagueness.

“Works for me,” she said, and stepped on the gas pedal.

\---

The lab was around forty-five minutes away from Terreville. Most of the time was spent with Crowley sleepily resting his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder while idly scrolling through Pinterest. Aziraphale stared out the window and watched the trees and houses pass by. 

As they got closer, the cities, buildings, and McDonald’s chains morphed into thick green forests. A small, barely visible sign invited them to the national laboratory. Gaia leisurely drove on an unsteady gravel road through the trees. Crowley set his phone down and looked up. Aziraphale could tell he was anxious, so he wrapped an arm around Crowley, who let out a sigh.

The trees finally broke through into a cloudy winter sky. There were dozens of building, all grey and made of some kind of concrete. They were all labeled with three digit numbers.

“So, what’s the plan? Do we just… go in? Hope she’s in the building?” Aziraphale asked. Any hope he had was starting to drain.

“Um, I’m not sure.” Gaia said, turning the wheel. “You know, I think I recognise this area. There’s an air base here or something.”

“Air base?”

“Yeah...” Gaia was distracted. Aziraphale saw her eyes dark green eyes constantly dart around the campus.

“Is that a visitor's center?” Crowley asked. “Why would a top secret lab have a _visitor’s center_?” he shook his head and shrugged. “We could try there.” Gaia nodded and turned the wheel in that direction. 

The lab wasn’t exactly what Aziraphale had expected. The cars there were of the everyday variety, instead of long white limos and cars disguising as electricity maintenance  
trucks. Mini vans and jeeps peppered the parking lot. The only truly exotic car was a 1920s black Bentley, though Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure how he knew that. He heard Crowley whistle when they passed it.

Gaia pulled into the spot nearest to the entrance and turned the car off. Aziraphale pulled on the door handle, but it didn’t open. “Please unlock the car.”

Gaia didn’t respond. 

“_Gaia_, unlock the car,” said Crowley. “We need to actually _get out_.”

She took a sudden breath in and said, “Oh! Of course, yes,” and pressed the unlock button. Aziraphale’s door clicked and he opened it. Despite the many cars, the parking lot was devoid of people. It was hauntingly quiet.

Together, the three of them walked silently across the parking lot, as if the smallest sound would awaken the ghosts of everything they were afraid of. As if the smallest noise would call Lucifer from far away.

The light was turned on inside the building, and Aziraphale figured that was a good sign. Crowley stepped in front of the group and opened the door with a shaky hand. A small _ding_ pinged, making Aziraphale practically jump out of his skin. Had they been caught?

No, that was just the little notification most buildings had. The one that said, _hey, I’m here! Come help me!_ Inside was a pleasant room. There were grey and blue couches and spinny chairs you could sit in while you waited. There was a woman sitting at a desk that said _Guest Registration_. She smiled when she saw the group

“Hello. How may I help you?” she said in a calm voice. Gaia cleared her throat and walked up to her.

“Hi. Um, we were wondering if you could tell us where we could find Cheryl Ashtoreth?” She asked. Aziraphale tried to make sure his face showed no emotion, but it was rather difficult. Could the lady -- Anna, judging by her name tag -- tell how afraid he really was? To Aziraphale’s surprise, however, Anna smiled warmly when she heard the name of Crowley’s mom.

“Oh, yes, Cheryl. Sorry about that, so many people have been having trouble. A few of them weren’t sure if the number on the email was correct. Building 444. STEM Coding Camp, yes?” Aziraphale froze. Did they have the wrong person? Was this all _wrong_?

“STEM Camp, yes.” Gaia nodded. Aziraphale tried to read her expression. Apparently, she was much better at hiding her emotions than he was. “Thank you for your help.”

“My pleasure.” Anna said. Gaia nodded again and led Crowley and Aziraphale out of the building. They all breathed a collective sigh of relief.

“444.” Crowley said, frantically opening the car door and sitting into the leftmost seat. “Let’s go!” Aziraphale went to his side’s door and opened it, sliding into his seat. Crowley’s leg was bouncing furiously. Aziraphale put his hand on it to still the movement.

“We’re almost there.” He whispered.

“I know.” Crowley whispered back. “I know.” Gaia finally got in the car and turned the key. She backed out of the parking lot and drove deeper into the laboratory's campus.

“That building was 365, so it should be around here somewhere.” she said, eyeing every building they passed. “451 -- I’m on the wrong side. Aziraphale, honey, keep a look-out…”

Aziraphale nodded. His eyes were already glued to the slowly passing grey and white buildings outside. _449\. 447. 445._

“Everything’s going to be okay, right?” said Crowley, weakly.

_443\. 441. 439._ “Shh, I’ll miss it…” said Aziraphale, making sure to count every building’s number. If he missed any single one, he would miss 444; of that he was sure. It was a ridiculous thought, but he couldn’t shake it. He couldn’t let building 444 pass him by. _437\. 435. 433._

“Yes, Crowley. Everything’s going to be okay,” said Gaia.

_431\. 429. 427._

“Aziraphale,” said Crowley. 

_425\. 423. 421._ “Everything’s going to be okay,” said Aziraphale. Gaia turned the corner, exposing the even buildings.

_422\. 424. 426._

“Okay,” whispered Crowley. “Yeah.”

_428\. 430. 432._ “Aziraphale, kiss me please.”

“No, I’m going to miss it!” Aziraphale’s eyes were wide and panicked. He wouldn’t miss it, he wouldn’t.

_434\. 436. 438._

“Aziraphale!” Crowley shouted. Aziraphale whipped his head around and kissed him. He held it until his fear of missing the building passed.

“444,” breathed Gaia. Aziraphale pulled back and stared at the concreate rectangle in front of them. He glanced at the sign.

_444_. They hadn’t missed it. Gaia fumbled with her keys and unlocked the car doors. Crowley was the first one out. Aziraphale moved to Crowley’s side so he would come out next to him.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, just. I can’t believe she’s really in there.” Crowley’s eyes were covered, as usual, but his face was distant. Almost forlorn. But there was something else too.

_Hope._

“Let’s go, then.” Aziraphale said. He started towards the door, but Crowley took hold of his arm before he could get far.

“Promise you’ll stay with me?” he asked.

“Always.” said Aziraphale. He took Crowley’s hand off his arm and lock their hands together. Aziraphale squeezed three times. “Means ‘I love you,’” he said.

“What does?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale repeated the action. “Oh, well...” Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand four times. “That means ‘I love you too.’” Aziraphale grinned and followed Gaia to the door.

One of the entrances was just an average opening and closing door. The other one revolved. Crowley and Aziraphale grinned at each other and went through the latter entrance. Aziraphale had forgotten how much fun they were. 

Inside the building, there were more of the same chairs and couches from the visitor’s center. On one wall of the room was a large glass window. Three rows of computers were visible from the inside. At first, there didn’t appear to be anyone inside, but a muffled voice told them that was incorrect. Aziraphale couldn’t hear it perfectly, but it sounded like the voice was reading something.

“They didn’t hand out new bodies just like that; they always wanted to know what you’d done with the old one.” the voice said “It was like trying to get a new pen from a particularly bloody-minded stationery department.” Aziraphale doubted he could place the line from any book he’d read. The book sounded like a very strange one indeed.

“Let’s go!” He pulled Crowley to a large metal door and went inside. To their right, there was a smaller door of the same type that presumably led back into the computer room. Through there, Aziraphale and Crowley were led into a small hallway. Yet another door blocked them from the room. _Could it really be her?_ thought Aziraphale as he turned the handle.

The voice was much louder now, and it had a face this time. A girl -- probably younger than Aziraphale and Crowley -- was sitting on a stool and reading from her book. Everyone else in the class was eating lunch. In the corner, sitting comfortably on a spinning blue chair, was a woman.

She had dark red ringlets and large cat-eye glasses. Her dress was short and navy blue. Crowley clutched Aziraphale’s hand tighter than he had. _That must be her._ She was watching the girl speak, and she was chewing on an apple.

“‘Yes, but do you normally bleed blue?’” the girl on the chair read “said--” in that moment however, the woman Aziraphale presumed to be Crowley’s mom turned to see them at the door. 

She stood and said, “Crowley.”

“Yes, Mrs. Ashtoreth, Crowley. Glad you’re catching on -- oh.” The girl who was reading turned to see Crowley and Aziraphale in the doorway. She looked like she was having some kind of existential crisis Aziraphale didn’t understand, but that didn’t matter.

Cheryl Ashtoreth weaved her way through the tables. It seemed to take an eternity to Aziraphale, and he was sure Crowley felt the same way. Finally, there was only a few feet between them.

“Is it really you?” Cheryl asked. Crowley gulped and nodded. Suddenly, he was wrapped in a hug that nearly melted Aziraphale’s heart. He let go of Crowley’s hand and stepped of to the side, giving them some space.

Cheryl pulled away and turned to look at Aziraphale, who blushed. “And who’s this?” she asked.

“Oh, um,” Crowley went to grab Aziraphale’s hand again. “this is my boyfriend, Aziraphale.” he said. “If that’s okay.”

The girl with the book was hyperventilating at this point. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her whisper something to the girl next to her, who looked equally as baffled.

“So is this where you’ve been? All this time?” Cheryl nodded and held Crowley’s face in her hands.

“Yes, I’m so sorry, Anthony. After the divorce Lucifer, he--” Crowley shook his head to cut her off.

“I know. I just...” Crowley wiped his cheek and Aziraphale realized he had been crying. “I missed you.” his voice broke. Cheryl ran her hand through his hair.

“I missed you too, angel.” Cheryl told him. Several of the students held their hands to their hearts. The girl with the book still looked troubled. Aziraphale hoped she was alright. Cheryl turned back to the kids. “Hey guys, finish up lunch and start with your Raspberry Pi code. I’ll be with you in a minute.” she turned back to Crowley.

“Hey, camp’s over in an hour. Why don’t you hang out, and we’ll go out for dinner, catch up, and...” she grinned. “I can show you my house.”

“Your house?”

“Mhm. Now, why don’t you take a computer, and I’ll show you how to work the Raspberry Pi, okay?” Crowley nodded and smiled. He gave Cheryl one last hug and practically skipped towards the computer nearest to the front, where she would probably stand to teach.

One by one, the students took last bites of their sandwiches and bananas and plugged little rectangle things into their computers. Crowley was grinning wildly when Aziraphale sat at the computer next to him.

“I can’t believe it’s her.” he said in a low voice.

“Me neither.” said Aziraphale. Next to him, a boy sat down. He had dark brown hair and looked generally grumpy. When he spoke, his accent was hard to place. It was some strange mix between Welsh, Scottish, English, and American.

“I’m Shane. Shane Shadwell.” the boy said, plugging in his Raspberry Pie.

“Hi Shane.” Aziraphale said.

“Now, everyone, we’re going to code light patterns.” Cheryl said. She stepped up to the front of the room. Her computer screen was projected onto the whiteboard. It showed several lines of code that would allow the kids to light up their small rectangles of power. “Copy this code down and add your own little bit of pizazz! Let’s see what you guys come up with!” 

The students nodded and started typing. Crowley was adamantly clicking away at his keyboard, while Aziraphale was trying his best. Shane Shadwell, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be trying at all. In fact, he wasn’t even on the coding website. Instead, he was Googling “how to exorcise a demon with Raspberry Pi.” _What the heck?_ Aziraphale thought. What would he need to do that for?

“What are you doing?” he asked, a bit scared when Shane had copied and pasted something back into the place where they had to write the code. He pressed run and the whole world seemed to collapse in one moment.

It started with the fire. At first it was a small lick of flame that danced around Shane’s LED that should have been instructed to just light up. Within seconds, however, the fire spread to the whole of his Raspberry Pi. Once it reached the table, everything went to Hell.

Someone screamed “fire!” and everyone bolted out of their seats and ran for the exit.

“Everybody, stay calm!” Cheryl cried. She ran to Crowley first. “I’m not losing you again,” she said, taking his arm and dragging him to the door.

“Wait, Aziraphale!” he called. Only then did Aziraphale realized that he was still calmly seated, frozen from shock. “Aziraphale, come on!”

“Oh!” Aziraphale practically threw his seat aside as he raced to the door. And then he saw it. On the table were the kids had been eating lunch, there was the book the girl had been reading. He couldn’t leave it. He couldn’t let a book be burned. It would only take a second.

He ran to the table and grabbed onto the book. _Got it._ But when he turned to face the door, it was too late. Parts of the flaming ceiling had fallen down, blocking it. _No._ Aziraphale thought.

Still clutching the book to his chest, Aziraphale frantically looked for a way out. _The glass, of course._ It was the only way. Aziraphale reached for a chair and threw it with all his might against the glass. It didn’t break.

And then he saw Crowley. His mom was trying to lead him out the door but he had stopped in front of the glass.

“Aziraphale!” his scream was muffled through the thickness. “Aziraphale! You have to get out!” Aziraphale put one hand against were Crowley was pounding his.

“I love you,” he said. “Goodbye.” Aziraphale ran back further into the room just as another part of the ceiling crashed down just by where he had been standing.

Crowley was still shouting from the other side, his voice wrecked with tears. Aziraphale was crying too, when he saw as Cheryl yanked him away from Aziraphale’s view.

Aziraphale pressed his back against a wall that wasn’t burning. Tears streaked his cheeks as he hugged the book and his legs to his chest.

_I don’t want to die,_ was the last thing he thought, halfway quoting Crowley’s favorite band, before he fainted from the smoke.

And everything went dark.


	24. Crowley

Crowley stared.

Somewhere far away, his mom was yelling at him. “Crowley. We have to go. The fire department is coming, Crowley, my darling -”

He couldn’t have moved if he wanted to. 

He didn’t _want_, though. Crowley didn’t feel anything. He thought that he’d be upset if he ever lost Aziraphale again — God knew he stayed up late into the night, staring into chalky blackness and imagining an infinite scenarios where Aziraphale cried, or bled, or yelled. In none of them did he _burn_. But even Crowley’s anxious imagination couldn’t summon every possibility. 

In all honesty, however, the deadened lack of emotion was a relief. There were no tears in Crowley’s eyes anymore. No embarrassing rage for his lost (_what an awful word_) love. Only blankness. Only nothing. Only his feet glued to the floor. Only his mom’s voice trying to pierce through the sudden dusk around him. 

“Crowley.”

Crowley said nothing. He continued to stare blankly at the glass and the flickering mosaic of red and orange beyond. 

“Crowley…”

The universe was so _big_, he thought. There was so much _room_. But there had to be a man who thought he was locking away his wife. There had to be a girl who wrote to the newspaper because she was afraid to have a girlfriend. There had to be these flames, licking the walls and… 

And…

“Crowley, we have to go.”

Crowley didn’t feel himself say the word _no_, but he heard it pass through his lips, raspy and broken.

_Everything’s going to be okay. Everything’s going to be okay. Everything’s going to be okay ..._

Aziraphale had been wrong. So wrong. 

“Crowley, come on.”

Crowley didn’t want to follow his mother out of the building, but he felt his feet moving and he was powerless to stop them. (He was powerless, period. That was beginning to become very obvious). Gaia had run away already — when? — or perhaps she was just out of sight? Crowley’s thoughts scrambled, desperate to keep him, he thought, from recognizing the actual situation at hand. 

The next minutes — hours? — passed in a blur of colors and voices. Crowley looked at a white ceiling and imagined the stars. People shouted and called the fire department and ambulances. Crowley read a magazine, and found himself going over the same sentence multiple times. Reading felt useless without Aziraphale. Everything felt useless without Aziraphale. 

Without. Without. Without. 

Lost. Lost. Lost. 

Crowley drank a glass and a half of ice-cold water, the pain on his teeth from the chill gladly welcome. 

He remembered when he thought his mother had died. Then, the pain had been immediate, sharp and cutting, threatening to carve him bloody from the inside out. He was afraid those same knives were inside his guts now, but he just couldn’t feel them yet, and the pain would only show up, debilitating, when it had already chopped him up entirely. 

What was different now? What were the seductive painkillers that were deadening his seemingly absent grief? Was it that he was older now? A different type of love? 

Or. _Don’t think it._ Was it because. Possibly. 

_Crowley, no._

Because Aziraphale was still somewhat okay? 

_No. It’s impossible, stop it. You_ saw him _go in the fire. You_ saw him--

Crowley stopped himself before he thought of _that word._

He looked idly at the magazine pile on the table beside him. The top one had a woman in a lacy white wedding dress, with a headline about some celebrities getting married. 

A surge of anger flickered through Crowley. The millions of people who only wanted to be with a gender that was deemed “okay” for them would never feel the way he did. And they could prance around and have big proposals, and kids, and they would never have the problems he worried about on a daily basis. Fuck that. Fuck them. 

He picked up the magazine and threw it across the room. It landed ungracefully in a heap against the white wall, under a poster of a collection of smiling women in science, with an entirely unsatisfying fluttery noise. Crowley wanted to rip it apart. No, actually, it could be burnt. Burnt just like —

_Gah._ The thought made him angry all over again. At Aziraphale. What kind of idiot stays in a burning building? At his mom. Why wouldn’t she let Crowley rush back in there? If he had to — if they had to — _not survive_, at least they would be in each other’s arms. The sort of dramatic ending that would fit perfectly on their story. 

And at his dad! He was so mad at his dad. What kind of parent makes their son so scared to fall in love he tries to run away. And God, what kind of husband wants to lock up his wife? Oh, and at the soccer team. They were terrible friends. Awful. 

He was glad that the numbness had worn away. The knives weren’t slashing at his guts after all, they were clenched in his hands, sharp and thirsty for blood. 

Crowley wanted to plunge them into everybody’s chest. Maybe they’d understand then, as they choked and fell into the velvet dark of —

Somewhere else. 

Instead, he went to the receptionist’s desk and asked as sweetly as he could for a felting kit. With every stab of the delicate silver needle, he imagined another one gone. Lucifer first. Then Gaia. And Cheryl — how could he have ever thought his mother was some trapped pariah? What a sucker he was; what an idiot. 

He stabbed the felt for what felt like six thousand years. Millenia without his angel. 

If he’d just grabbed Aziraphale. If the book hadn’t been there. If he’d done the sensible thing and not fought Gaia to come along. If he’d never fallen for the person he should never have fallen for. 

If he could do it all over again, he told himself, everything would have turned out better. 

If he’d never told Aziraphale the directions to the newsroom. That was where this all started, wasn’t it? Gaia would still have come to their house, and they still would have rescued his mom. But he wouldn’t have to go through all that awful heartache. Why do people feel? He would have given up his feelings if it meant saving Aziraphale. 

It became a morbid game, all of a sudden. If he could predict where that dust would bounce, Aziraphale would be okay. It went left instead of right, and the flames grew taller in his imagination. 

If he could recall the famous opening line of Aziraphale’s favorite book, Aziraphale would be okay. _It is a truth acknowledged — universally acknowledged…_ Wait. Was it universally? The fire was all-consuming, everywhere, orange and red and yellow. 

Everywhere. Everywhere… and what could he do? Nothing. He could never do anything. He could never fix anything. Lucifer knew that. Crowley should have just listened. It was pointless; everything was now. The fire was eating him alive, and there were the knives now, having found their clever way into his own chest instead of everybody else’s. They were needy, their kisses vicious and cruel. They were the slap of Lucifer’s hand. They were two words in a blue text bubble, _I’m sorry._ They were Aziraphale, scared and gulped down by an angry burning monster. 

Crowley looked at his felting. Why had he gotten it, again? What did he think he could solve with loose wool fibers and a cold needle?

A woman came into the waiting room. She was blonde, with dark eyebrows and a dark blue charm glittering at her throat. She picked up the magazine on the floor and sat down. 

“Good afternoon,” she said to him after a few moments of silence. 

“Mm,” said Crowley, which meant _Shut up and go away._

“I heard there was a fire in building 444,” she said, turning a page. 

Crowley glared at her and gritted his teeth. He stabbed at the felt without really looking at it. “Maybe.”

“I met my husband right before a fire,” she said. 

_I don’t care._ “Great.”

“I do hope everybody’s fine. They did take that poor boy to hospital, right?” The woman fiddled with her necklace. 

Crowley dropped the thin felting needle and heard it clatter on the tile floor. “He’s okay? Alive? I mean, is he… did you hear…?”

“He should be. I think. Minor burns, so far as the doctor said….” She said the word oddly, _doctor_, as if she meant some specific person. “Have you seen any aliens around?”

“Er, no.”

“We must be here because of the fire then. Goodbye, it was very nice to meet you.” She placed the magazine down. 

Crowley raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question her as she left. Aziraphale was okay. _Minor burns_, but okay. And that was all that mattered. 

Aziraphale was okay.

Aziraphale was alive.

Crowley practically threw the foam square and felt to the side of the couch and ran out the door. Cheryl called after him -- he hadn’t noticed her seated in a chair on the other end of the room -- but he was already gone.

Nearly out the door, it only to him he had no way to get to the hospital. But that was okay. He would steal a car. Drive there. The perfect plan.

“Crowley, please, stop!” Crowley whipped around to see Cheryl running towards him. “Where are you going?” She reached him and put a hand on his arm.

“The hospital. ” Crowley yanked himself free and started to the parking lot. Cheryl stubbornly followed him. “Aziraphale’s still --” he caught his breath “alive. He’s still alive. I have to go to him.”

“Oh,” Cheryl stopped, making Crowley pause too. “Look, I know I don’t know him as well as you -- at all, really -- but Crowley, you’re the most important thing to me. You have no idea how hard I tried to bring you back I--” she took a deep breath. “I love you so much and I’m so, so sorry for not being there. But…” Cheryll took Crowley’s hand and lifted it to her chest. She squeezed it tightly. “I’m here for you now. And if finding Aziraphale is this important to you… I’m ready to help.”

Tears welled up in Crowley’s eyes. He let go of his mom’s hand and gave her a hug. It felt like years of lost and forgotten love were released in a single moment. When they finally released each other, Crowley’s mom pulled her car keys out of her pocket.

“Let’s drive.” she said. Crowley grinned widely and nodded.

_We’re coming, Aziraphale._ Crowley said in his head, as if somehow Aziraphale would be able to hear him. _I promise.___


	25. Aziraphale

Aziraphale was dreaming of heat. He felt like a tortilla cooking in hot oil, or possibly a sword being forged in fire, but whatever the simile was, he was very, very warm. 

His eyes were closed. He couldn’t remember why, but they were stuck closed and he couldn’t see whatever was producing all that heat. A sound — a song? — a conversation! drifted through the flames, whispering feather-soft to fall asleep, close his eyes…

Snippets of lyrics he knew, he loved, were twisted in with the words. _Like sleep to the freezing…_ But he wasn’t freezing. That didn’t make sense. He was burning, burning and burning, and burning… 

His thoughts were miscut puzzle pieces; the picture fit together but the edges didn’t. Crowley was somewhere far away. How far? Where was he? 

Burning, burning, burning. 

Aziraphale felt as if he was drifting… the pain and heat of the fire began to fade away… there was the distinct taste of chocolate on his tongue… 

And he woke up. 

Cold. It was cold. The burning was gone, thank goodness, and when his eyelids fluttered open, he saw only white. As if he was trapped in ice instead of fire. Sleep for the freezing, he remembered. Good old Hozier. 

There must have been some truth to the dream, though, because in his hazy memory he found fire and Cheryl and a burning book. 

The room was beeping. Aziraphale blinked a few times and properly looked around. White walls, a hotel-room-style painting of a pink flower, a charred book beside his bed. A slim tube was connected to his arm. The mostly-burnt book said _Ood S, Rry Atc T, Nei Ma_ on the cover. He sat up a little bit, wincing, and very carefully lifted the cover.

The inside page was much less damaged, and it read: _Good Omens. Terry Pratchett, Neil Gaiman._

He started it, squinting at the bits that were blackened and flaking, but getting the idea of the story anyway. It was funny. It was really funny. And sweet. Crowley would love it. 

A man walked into the room, although Aziraphale didn’t notice because he was thoroughly engrossed in the Apocalypse. When Aziraphale did look up, though, the man was pacing.

Crowley had a way of walking that was utterly specific to him. He probably, Aziraphale thought, didn’t have any hips. Not many people had their own walk. A strange walk, okay, but one that was surely shared. But this man _bounced_ like Aziraphale had never seen anyone bounce. It involved your heel and possibly the muscles in the low bit of your calf. “Ooh, you’re awake,” he said excitedly.

“I was reading,” said Aziraphale, and he put his book aside. “Of course I was awake.”

The man shrugged. “How would I know?”

Aziraphale had nothing to say to that.

The man was long, and pointy, and was wearing entirely too many clothes. It was as if somebody had looked at him and decided he would look best if he was wearing a suit under a t-shirt under a button-down under a trench coat under a doctor’s coat, and he looked a little puffy and uncomfortable. “You’re doing all right?”

“You’re not a doctor?” said Aziraphale, who was getting more concerned by the minute.

The man grinned, delighted by the question. “Hmm. Yes! No. Sort of!”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

The man stopped his weird, uneven pacing and sat down on the end of Aziraphale’s bed. Aziraphale wasn’t entirely sure the man was supposed to do that. Aziraphale was also not entirely sure the man was supposed to be in this room at all. “Ah, whatever,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. 

“Where’s everybody?”

“On their way. Called your family for you. You’re welcome.”

“Isn’t a doctor supposed to do that?”

“Probably.”

Aziraphale was lost for words. “Um. How did you know I was there?”

“Well, at first, we thought there was nobody in the building.” _We_ should have been a concerning term, but by now, Aziraphale was pretty sure he’d lost the ability to be concerned. “But there was this boy that was freaking _out_, and we went in there, and there you were. With that book.”

“_Good Omens_,” said Aziraphale. 

“I guess they are.”

“What? No. The book is called _Good Omens_. It’s about the end of the world.”

The man looked a little confused, but he said, “Delightful. I think there are some visitors in to see you, all right? So I’ll be going. It was good to meet you, though.” 

“What’s your name?” Aziraphale asked. “I don’t think I caught your name.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Good-bye, then, I guess.”

The strange man left. Aziraphale was about to pick up his book again, but Mr. Fell burst through the door. Aziraphale’s mom followed after. “Darling! Are you all right?” said Mr. Fell. He was holding a cup of what looked like coffee.

Mom hugged Aziraphale tightly. “They said you had some minor burns. What happened?”

“You guys drove here… together?”

“Yes, of course,” said Mr. Fell.

“We may not be together anymore, but you’re still our top priority. Always.” Mom ran her fingers through Aziraphale’s hair. “But seriously, darling, what the hell happened.”

“Oh. Um. Funny story actually… you see, we were at this Coding Camp thing and this kid googled _How to exorcise a demon with raspberry pi_ and… he blew up the place pretty much.”

Aziraphale’s mom and Mr. Fell exchanged glances. “Was there a demon in this camp?” Mr. Fell asked. Mom snorted a bit.

“No, I don’t think so. I mean, _I’m_ obviously not a demon. But anyway, there was this book and I uh… saved it?” Aziraphale smiled with a cringe. In retrospect, that may not have been the best decision he ever made. Mr. Fell gave out a laugh.

“That’s my boy. What was the book?” Aziraphale gestured with his eyes to the book on the hospital bed’s white sheets.

“That one. It’s called _Good Omens,_ it’s really good.” Mr. Fell, who had finally taken a sip of his coffee, seemed to choke on the hot drink. Mom laughed and picked up the book.

“What do you know.” she opened the book to the cover and smiled. “This used to be my absolute favorite book. Still is. Of course, I’m sure you already noticed, my dear.” Mom winked and Aziraphale looked confused.

“Oh, come on!” Mr. Fell barged in. “Who on Earth names their kid _Aziraphale_? Fanlads, that’s who.” Mr. Fell took another satisfied sip of coffee. Mom shot him a death glare.

“You were the one who came up with it. And _fanlad_ is not a word.” Mr. Fell just shrugged and turned to sit down in one of the chairs lining the wall. Aziraphale stared at the empty white space in front of him. 

Why hadn’t his unfocused mind registered that? Aziraphale was _far_ from a common name. Maybe he had penned his name in his favorite books one too many times and he hadn’t been awake enough to notice that this book was not, in fact, his own. And _Crowley_ was a character too. They were both characters! What the heck was happening? This was an incredibly strange way to have an existential crisis.

“Really though, my dear, we’re so relieved that you’re alive.” Mom wrapped Aziraphale in one of her signature hugs. “Don’t ever let your father let you go places again.” 

“Okay,” Aziraphale nodded. “Um, do you mind if I get back to reading?” he asked, taking the Book back from his mom.

“Oh, yes, of course, dear.” Mom nodded and went to sit down in the seat furthest from Mr. Fell. She gestured to Aziraphale. “Carry on. Enjoy it.” Aziraphale smiled and ducked his head, starting from where he had left off.

_“It’s Tchaikovsky’s ‘Another One Bites the Dust,’” said Crowley, closing his eyes as--_

Crowley! Was he okay? Did he know Aziraphale was aright? Had he already shrugged it off and hooked up with some girl from the camp? Aziraphale had to text him, call him, _something_.

“Mom!” Aziraphale said with such urgency his mom jumped in alarm.

“What’s wrong?” She stood from her seat immediately, her phone already safely tucked away in her purse.

“Please, do you know where my phone is? Er, can I borrow yours?” Oh shoot, had Aziraphale lost it in the fire? He certainly hoped not. It wasn’t like the Fells were in a particularly bad financial situation, it just might be awhile before he could get a new one.

“What for?” Mom asked.

“Crowley! He doesn’t know!” Aziraphale held out his hand and let his pleading eyes do the dirty work. He had a very particular set of skills, and soft eyes had always served him well. Sure enough, his mom sighed and handed it over.

“Five minutes,” she warned.

“Five minutes, okay.” That was enough time. Surely it was enough time. Aziraphale quickly unlocked the phone -- his mother’s password was 102102, Aziraphale’s birthday -- and applied well over the amount of pressure needed on a phone to type in Crowley’s number.

**MayorGodell:** CROWLEY!!!!

Perhaps it was a bit over enthusiastic, but Aziraphale wanted to make sure he was getting the message across. He needed to talk to his boyfriend. Right now. The seconds seemed to tick on for hours when finally, _finally,_ the infamous three dots appeared.

Aziraphale’s class had once read a short story -- years ago, in one of those elementary school magazines -- where the main character’s least favorite thing about Earth was the texting dots. Aziraphale strongly disagreed.

It meant someone cared enough to text back.

**snazzysnek:** Is this Aziraphale’s mom?? HECK IS HE OKAY!!!! DID SOMETHING HAPPEN!??!?!?!?

Aziraphale’s face softened at Crowley’s obvious concern. He couldn’t have run off with someone else, then. He still wanted to know if Aziraphale was doing okay. And the discreet censoring of the word Aziraphale knew Crowley would type had it been anyone except the Mayor of Terreville who coincidentally happened to be his boyfriend’s mom.

**MayorGodell:** NO IT’S ME!! I’m using my mom’s phone.

**snazzysnek:** OH MY GOD OKAY THERE WAS THIS LADY WHO SAID YOU WERE IN THE HOSPITAL I DIDNT THINK I BELIEVED HER AT FIRST BUT AAAAAH WERE ACTUALLY IN THE CAR RIGHT NOW

Aziraphale’s heart swelled. Crowley was coming. He was going to come anyway, weather Aziraphale had confirmed his being in the hospital or not. It was more than enough to make him smile.

**snazzysnek:** wait it is really you right?

Aziraphale quickly went into the photo extension and snapped a picture of himself, still smiling widely. He sent the image. Aziraphale knew he looked horrible, but Crowley wouldn’t mind, right? Ack could he unsend it? But the “sending” blue bar had already disappeared and a small piece of text reading “delivered” was under the photo. Aziraphale cringed.

And he waited.

And waited.

Crowley haden’t responded for over three minutes now. It was an abnormally large frame of time considering he had been actively texting only moments ago. Oh no, had Aziraphale distracted him from driving? Did he crash? Just after they had found each other again, too.

Five more minutes passed with no response from Crowley. Mom had already asked for the phone back, and Aziraphale kept asking for updates. Mom finally got fed up with it after around the twentieth ask and told him she would most certainly tell him if there were any texts.

Aziraphale nodded and tried to focus back on his book, but his thoughts were louder than the words on the page. _Had Crowley been murdered? Kidnapped? Did he take one look at that horribly unflattering picture and decided that no, he was most certainly good with abandoning me forever and ever and ever and ever..._

More minutes ticked on the clock, slower than Aziraphale had ever remembered them being. Crowley wasn’t coming, it seemed. He wasn’t texting back, either. This was truly dreadful.

His mom had to leave on account of a meeting she couldn’t reschedule, though she had frantically tried. Now there was no way for Aziraphale to know of any texts. 

His father stayed for a bit longer until he realized he had left the shop unlocked in his rush to get to the hospital. He promised to return just as soon as he made sure no burglars tried to steal his favorites.

The longer he waited, the more the truth was apparent. No one was coming. He was alone, forever and always alone.

_It’s just me and the Book, now._ Aziraphale thought. He turned the charred mess over in his hand and sighed. This was okay. Books were good. They always had been. They were an escape from the dreaded horrors of Real Life and _people._ But maybe sometimes it would be nice to have company.

_Not just company,_ he thought.

_Crowley_


	26. Crowley

Fuck traffic. No actually, fuck it. It was horrible. It was loud. Dozens of people were honking at each other angrily for _no reason whatsoever._ Honking wasn’t going to make it go any faster. Who knew what blocked up the road, anyway. Was is just people existing in general, or some mysterious alien force?

Crowley shook the shower thoughts from his head. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was Aziraphale. And of course the moment he had asked for a picture -- one he didn’t really need to believe Aziraphale, but he had just wanted to see his face again -- he got a text telling him that he’d used up all his data for the month.

Of all the times. _Now_ it cut out. He hadn’t even used that much. No more than he usually did, anyway. He vaguely wondered if Lucifer had anything to do with it. The thought scared him for a moment. And then he remembered.

He was with his mom now. He would have to see Lucifer again if he didn’t want to. He could live with his mom and Gaia and they could all be a real family. _Together._

Crowley’s body tremble with an emotion he couldn’t quite place. It felt like it was mending a hole in his chest. A hole he had spent years trying to ignore. A hole that, over time, had gone numb with loss of hope.

But now hope had returned. At it felt incredible.

Crowley drummed his fingers on a plastic container with a dozen blue and yellow cupcakes. His mom had been the one who had insisted upon getting them, despite several protests from Crowley. Seeing Aziraphale couldn’t wait.

But they had gotten them anyway. And now they were stuck in soul-crushing, god-awful traffic.

Terrific. Absolutely -- what was the phrase Aziraphale liked using? -- tickety-boo. Crowley let out a low groan when he saw raindrops against the car’s window. _Rain, of course it rains now. Of. Freaking. Course._

They had to be almost there. They had to.

\---

On a normal day, it would have taken about 20 minutes to get from the lab to the hospital. Even faster in an ambulance.

Somehow it had taken Crowley and his mom 45 minutes. This was horrible. Aziraphale was probably worried, even though he was the one who hurt himself. God, Crowley was never going to forgive himself. Never in six thousand years.

Crowley frantically fumbled with the car’s handle, stumbling out into the rain. It was pouring now. The cold water soaked his hair and seeped through his non-winter coat. It had been a surprisingly nice day for December. Until it wasn’t.

Crowley practically yanked his mother to the doors with one hand. The other arm was quite occupied with keeping the cupcakes intact and edible.

The receptionist directed the two to room 24A, where Aziraphale was. The door was shut and he couldn’t hear anything from the inside. In a brief moment of panic, he wondered if perhaps they had gotten the wrong room, or maybe it was a different Aziraphale.

Crowley’s hand shook as he turned the handle. _Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay,_ he prayed in his head.

The first thing that struck Crowley when he entered the room was an alarming amount of _white_. Everything was just so _sterile._ It was strange, and it made Crowley a bit uneasy, though he couldn’t explain why.

But there was no way Crowley could care less when his eyes finally landed on Aziraphale in the bed. He was reading a book -- of course -- and had a smile on his face, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Crowley would never admit to it, but he cried. Tears streamed down his cheeks in thick, wet lumps. Aziraphale was okay.

_Aziraphale was okay._

Crowley hurled himself at him, securing his arms tightly around Aziraphale’s waist and refusing to let go. Aziraphale let out a little gasp and started crying too, although Crowley face was too far nestled onto his torso to see it.

“You’re alive.” Crowley said through heaving sobs. “I thought I lost you, you were gone. Just… like that.” Aziraphale’s hands wove their way through Crowley’s hair, as if in some useless attempt to settle the strands that had been tangled and covered with grime and soot. 

“Of course I’m alive. I couldn’t just leave you here to go out and...” Out of the corner of his eye, Crowley saw one of Aziraphale’s hands lift and gesture at the wall. “Do things without me.”

“I wouldn’t ‘do things,’ I promise.” Crowley shook his head and squeezed his eyes tighter, not feeling like he had the energy to say anything more. It seemed Aziraphale could tell, because he didn’t say anything else either. Crowley breathed in the hospital gown’s scent, which didn’t really smell like Aziraphale, but kind of did.

“I love you so frickin’ much.” Crowley could feel another set of tears come through, but he tried to fend them off long enough to hear Aziraphale’s response.

“I’ll always love you more.” Aziraphale gently lifted Crowley’s head off him and kissed him square on this lips. Crowley melted with adoration and slug his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders, careful not to interfere with the tube thing. 

Crowley let his tears fall, which made Aziraphale pull away, but squeeze him tighter. “Don’t. Let. Go.” Crowley tried to say between tears. “Please.” Aziraphale only shook his head.

“I’m here.” he said. “Always.”

“Always.” Crowley whispered back. That was a word he had often thought didn’t have much meaning to it. You couldn’t be certain of anything, ever. Lucifer couldn’t promise him an _always_. Mom couldn’t either.

But somehow it was different when Aziraphale said it. Crowley could almost imagine what _always_ would be like with him.

They would have a nice house in the suburbs. First they would wake up in each other’s arms. Aziraphale’s eyes would light up and Crowley would kiss him good morning. Then Crowley would learn how to make crepes and make them for breakfast in the morning because he knew how much Aziraphale loved them. 

Then they would sit on the couch and Aziraphale would read aloud from his favorite books while Crowley would lean his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder and listen.

In the winter, there would be a fire blazing and a soft blanket wrapped around each of them. In the summer, they would sit outside, maybe in the front yard, hands forever interlocked.

And of course, there were the ordinary things to do. Have lunch, go out to eat on occasion, grocery shopping… oh, and whatever profession they chose to ensue. Maybe Aziraphale would help with his father’s bookshop by selling online. And Crowley would find a job that only required a computer. Then they would be able to be together.

Always.

Crowley blinked himself back to reality and realized that his breathing had slowed, his heart rate decreased. He felt relieved and relaxed.

This was what he wanted. It really, truly was. Crowley finally decided to pull away and drag a seat from the wall to the bed. He took Aziraphale’s hand and squeezed it three times.

Aziraphale responded with four, leaving a small smile on both of their faces. Then, a doctor walked in with a pleasant expression. 

“Hullo,” she said. The doctor had pale blonde hair cut to her chin, and a white uniform. “Just need to take your blood pressure and all, if you don’t mind.” Crowley stiffened and unlocked his hand from Aziraphale’s. He wasn’t… sure.

“Oh, you don’t need to do that.” The doctor said as she took the thing that took blood pressure (Crowley was fairly certain he wasn’t going to get a medical degree anytime soon) from the wall. The doctor wrapped the fabric around Aziraphale’s arm and inflated it. “I’m set to go out to dinner with my wife after work today.”

Aziraphale lit up like the sun when he heard that. He seemed to do that sort of thing a lot. It was lethal amounts of adorable. “What’s her name?” Aziraphale asked, and then blushed. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“River,” the doctor said, taking a quick glance at the pressure meter and scribbling something down on her clipboard.

“That’s a lovely name.” Aziraphale beamed.

“I’ll be sure to tell her you said so.” the doctor promised. She took the stethoscope (Crowley knew that one) from her neck and put it to her ears. “Oh, dear, sorry to assume about you two though. You aren’t brothers, are you?” Crowley laughed lightly and gave Aziraphale a quick peck on the cheek.

“Definitely not brothers.” he said. Aziraphale’s blush blossomed, even more so when the doctor suggested she try the last test again.

“It seems a little quicker than it should be.” She winked. When she finished with the rest of the check-up, Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand again.

“You seem to be healing remarkably well, Aziraphale. You should be able to go home in a day or two.” The doctor said with a smile. “It’s a good thing they got you out in time.” Crowley nodded and shut his eyes, trying not to think of what would have happened if they hadn't. “It was lovely meeting you both, and I’ll tell River you said hi.” she said.

Crowley and Aziraphale waved goodbye as the doctor shut the door. 

“She was nice.” Crowley said.

“She was.” Aziraphale agreed. He fidgeted around the bed for a moment before asking, “Do you want to read the book I saved?”

“The book you...” Crowley noticed the book Aziraphale had been reading when he got in the room, which was moved to the bedside table. “Ah yes, that one. The book that almost--”

“Got your boyfriend killed?”

“Yeah. That.” Crowley felt himself slowing slipping away. The fire, hot and heartless. Taking anything and everything you could ever love. Aziraphale noticed, he always seemed to. He lifted Crowley’s hand and kissed his knuckles lightly.

“It’s okay. Besides, the Book is _really_ good. I’m only about halfway through. I can start over, if you like.” Crowley nodded and swallowed. Aziraphale smiled and scooted as far to the right as he could so Crowley could sit by him on the bed. He did and cuddled under the blanket next to him.

It was exactly as wonderful as he had imagined it to be. For one, Aziraphale’s shoulder was far more comfortable than any shoulder had the right to be. And when he read, his voice floated through the air like liquid chocolate. Which, on second thought, seemed like hot cocoa.

Then there was the book itself, which was bloody brilliant. Not only was there the extremely strange coincidences (which got even more coincidental as the story progressed), but it was a _genuine_ good time. Crowley wasn’t sure when the last time he had read a book and thoroughly enjoyed it.

Plus, Aziraphale had overlapped his leg with Crowley’s several minutes in. His leg stayed like that for what would probably be an unreasonable amount of time to anyone else, but for Crowley, it was Heaven.


	27. The Very Last Chapter of the Rest of Their Lives

They drove home.  
There was a lot to do when they reached the apartment, which was a fairly underwhelming way to put it, but for now, they drove.  
Gaia felt numb. She’d achieved everything she’d dreamt of. She’d rescued her love from her seclusion and was currently driving her to safety.   
Ah. No.  
There was still one more thing left. 

Cheryl and Gaia pulled over once they arrived at the police station, and they went inside.  
While they were busy, Crowley pressed Aziraphale against the car’s door and kissed him. He had been right after all. Everything had turned out okay.  
“I think I love you,” said Crowley.  
“You said that before,” said Aziraphale, who had half a mind to not let him continue and instead, kiss him again.  
“I know,” said Crowley. “I really mean it this time.”  
“I think I love you too,” said Aziraphale, and gave in to his half a mind.

In the middle of the school day the next week, police officers let former vice principal Lucifer through the hall in handcuffs. He was gloriously humiliated, and, more importantly, gloriously placed in jail.  
Gaia and Cheryl adopted Crowley officially some time after that. They threw a party, and Aziraphale attended and ate too much devil’s food cake, and Crowley kissed him in front of everybody.   
Then Gaia got down on one knee, and pulled out a ring, and Cheryl cried a lot and said “_Yes._”  
Crowley hoped that would be him and Aziraphale some day, crying and smiling and hugging family.  
Some day.

As it turned out, Cheryl had earned a teaching degree in all those years at the STEM camp. The principal didn’t mind much when she took over instead.  
The newspaper and the soccer team were both temporarily dissolved, which left a lot of nasty people very unhappy.   
With the new, leftover funds, Anathema started a literary journal. After much debate, she named it _OUR OWN SIDE._ Crowley became the prose editor. Newton edited photography, which was probably a bad idea, but he seemed to enjoy it, so it was okay.  
Adam and his friends joined, too. Wensleydale, especially, adored the formatting work.  
An invitation was extended to Aziraphale and Huda, both of whom accepted gladly. They kept up their advice column together. The phrase “Quick Answers” was forever a name lost to humanity.

Eden, Crowley’s ex-girlfriend, ended up being quite a nice person after all, and although Aziraphale never did feel entirely comfortable around her, he tried to be polite.  
She turned out to be Cherry’s girlfriend, from the advice column. Crowley was deeply proud of Eden for going after a girl. “Don’t tell anyone I said this,” he said to her once. “But I think you’ll do better off without men anyways.”  
Eden and Cherry and Crowley and Aziraphale went for lunch in spring. They invited Huda, who declined because she was fasting for Ramadan. “Another time, then,” said Aziraphale.   
“Oh, definitely,” she promised.

Crowley got a better grade than he ever had before in science. Ms. Maxwell-Martin said, quietly, to him, “I’m very proud of you.”  
Crowley was very proud of himself, too. 

Aziraphale and Crowley graduated eleventh grade in June. There was a lot of crying, mostly from Cheryl and Mr. Fell.   
Their first day of summer, they met at Bastille for dinner and planned out the adventures they could have. “Maybe,” said Crowley, “We could go to a waterpark.”  
“I’d like that,” said Aziraphale, eyeing him in a way that said he would also very much like to see Crowley, shirtless, in a bathing suit.  
And they kissed, and said goodnight.  
An ocean away, there were other angels in different, fancier restaurants. There were other people and other lives, and other romantic affairs.  
And perhaps, if you listened very closely that night, you would, in fact, hear a nightingale, singing, in Berkley Square. 

_That certain night  
The night we met  
There was magic abroad  
in the air.  
There were angels dining   
at the Ritz  
And a nightingale sang  
in Berkley Square._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aah thank you all so much for reading! This has been a journey and, honestly we probably could have done it without you but that’s not very sentimental of us. Thanks for tuning in with new crazy chapters and reading all the way through our 150+ google doc page fic! Go with style!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are greatly enjoyed and appreciated!  
We’ll try to update as often as possible with new chapters so keep yourselves posted if you enjoyed :3


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